SONGS  BY  THE  WAY, 


OF   THE   KIGHT   REV. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  DOANE,  DD..LLD., 


ARRANGED    AND  EDITED 


IJY    HIS    SON. 


WILLIAM  CROSWELL  DOANE. 


"  Cantantes  licet  usque,  (minus  via  laedet)  eainus." 

"• Sometimes  a  listless  hour  beguile, 

Framing  loose  numbers." 

"  Where  perfect  sweetness  dwells,  is  Cosmos  gone, 
Hut  his  sweet  lays,  to  cheer  the  church,  live  on." 


THIRD  EDITION. 


ALBANY: 
.1  0  E  L     M  I    X  S  E  LL. 

1875. 


A 

Jttemorial  of  tfje  i&eunkm. 


GRADUATES  AND  PUPILS  OF  ST.  MARY'S  HALL, 

THESE    VERSES    OF    MY   FATHER 

ARE  DEDICATED; 

As  to  those,  "  who  rise  up  and  call  him  blessed  "  and  who 
have  everywhere  vindicated  and  illustrated 

HIS    BELOVED    MEMORY. 

W.  C.  D. 

BISHOP'S  HOUSE,  Albany, 

All  Saints,  A.  D.  1875. 


270636 


The  Graduates  of  St.  Mary's  Hall,  present  at 
the  first  Reunion,  May,  1875,  unanimously  re- 
solved : 

That  a  Committee  be  appointed  to  wait  upon 
the  Bishop  of  Albany,  and  request  a  copy  of  his 
Father's  Poems,  for  publication. 

The  Committee  subsequently  reported,  that 
the  Bishop  had  acceded  to  the  request,  as  his 
memorial  offering  to  the  Reunion. 


INTRODUCTION. 


In  an  old  wood,  stands  a  great  oak  tree.  It  braves  the 
winds,  and  courts  the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  challenges  the 
forked  points  of  the  lightning  ;  and  keeps  off,  from  the  young 
trees  and  the  new  grass  and  the  dear  flowers,  what  would 
kill  them,  at  the  risk  of  its  own  life.  This  is  its  work. 
And,  yet,  it  has  time  to  shade  the  little  children,  and  give 
them  acorns  for  their  play  ;  and  time  to  make  a  winter  home 
for  squirrels,  and  a  hive  for  the  wild  bees  ;  and  time,  to 
throw  its  leaves  out,  for  coolness  and  for  beauty  ;  and  time, 
to  change  them,  in  the  autumn  glory,  for  our  eyes  to  look 
on  ;  and  time,  to  give  its  dry  and  withered  leaves  to  God's 
great  winter  wind,  to  play  its  solemn  music.  And  the 
leaves  crown  all.  It  is  mighty  in  its  roots,  gnarled  in  its 
trunk,  great  in  its  branches.  It  can  be  a  ship  to  carry  the 
world's  treasures,  or  a  nation's  armies  ;  it  can  be  the  arched 
roof  of  a  cathedral.  And  yet,  its  Spring  leaves  are  as  tender 
as  a  sapling's  ;  its  Summer  emeralds,  as  green  as  the  grass 
blades  ;  its  Autumn  colours,  as  deep,  as  though  its  only  care 
were  beauty.  And  the  leaves  are  the  crown  of  all.  So 
God  glorifies  strength  with  beauty ;  as,  in  the  old  fable, 
Venus  was  the  wife  of  Vulcan  ;  and  the  highest  human 
glory,  of  the  greatest  life,  is  God's  adorning  of  a  brave,  great 
soul,  with  the  loveliness,  of  grace  and  beauty.  Such  great- 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

ness,  did  He  give  my  Father.  And  with  the  earnest  seal, 
which  death  sets,  on  reverent  and  abiding  love,  this  crown 
of  the  oak's  own  leaves  —  the  beauty  of  a  strong,  enduring 
soul  —  hangs  round  the  arms  of  the  Cross,  that  marks  his 
first  and  final  rest. 

My  Father's  poems  were  not  the  labour  of  his  life.  His 
own  name  for  them,  "  Songs  by  the  Way,"  is  the  best  and 
truest  name.  Poems  are  creations.  And  in  the  truest 
sense,  the  creations  of  his  life  are  poems,  permanent  and 
beautiful,  in  all  their  usefulness  and  strength.  His  poems 
either  bloomed,  out  of  the  deep  valleys  of  suffering,  which 
duty  made  in  his  life  ;  or  were  the  graceful  vine,  that  grew, 
unsolicited,  over  the  rough  rocks,  of  his  steep  pathway  into 
glory.  His  heart  was  full  of  them  ;  and  when  the  rod  smote 
the  rock  ;  when  he  was  touched  by  kindness,  or  by  suffering, 
by  a  child's  gift  of  a  violet,  or  some  heroic  deed  of  a  man  ; 
they  just  flowed  out,  in  all  the  force  and  fervour  of  nature 
and  necessity.  And,  like  all  his  life,  they  were  all  tributary 
streams,  of  that  great  ocean  of  worship,  that  gathers  round 
the  Church's  Altar,  and  dashes  its  eternal  waves  against  the 
very  Throne  of  God.  The  hard  workman,  beguiled  the 
weariest  task,  setting  its  labour,  to  the  music  of  his  soul. 

Many  of  these  verses  were  published,  in  A.  D.  1824,  in 
a  volume  now  out  of  print  ;  bearing  the  title  of  this  book. 
Many  others,  from  time  to  time,  have  appeared  in  news- 
papers,—  and  there  are  many,  beside  these,  whose  echoes 
linger  round  his  beautiful  home,  and  in  our  loving  hearts  ; 
that  will  not  go  beyond  those  sacred  shrines. 

RIVERSIDE,  May  \$,A.D.  1859. 


SONGS  BY  THE   WAY. 


MORNING. 

"  My  voice  shalt  thou  hear  in  the  morning." 

To  Thee,  O  Lord,  with  dawning  light, 

My  thankful  voice  I'll  raise, 
Thy  mighty  power  to  celebrate, 

Thy  holy  Name  to  praise; 

For  Thou,  in  helpless  hour  of  night, 

Hast  compass'd  all  my  bed, 
And  now,  refresh'd  with  peaceful  sleep, 

Thou  liftest  up  my  head. 

Grant  me,  my  God,  Thy  quick'ning  grace, 

Through  this,  and  every  day, 
That,  guided  and  supported  thus, 

My  feet  may  never  stray. 

Increase  my  faith,  increase  my  hope, 

Increase  my  zeal  and  love ; 
And  fix  my  heart's  affections,  all, 

On  Christ,  and  things  above. 
1 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

And  when,  life's  labours  o'er,  I  sink 

To  slumber,  in  the  grave, 
In  death's  dark  vale,  be  Thou  my  trust, 

To  succour  and  to  save  ; 

That  so,  through  Him  who  bled  and  died, 

And  rose  again,  for  me  ; 
The  grave  and  gate  of  death,  may  prove, 

A  passage,  home,  to  Thee. 


NOON. 

"At  noon  will  I  pray." 

FATHER  of  lights,  from  Thee,  descends, 

Each  good,  and  perfect  gift ; 
Then  hear  us,  while  our  thankful  hearts, 

In  songs  of  praise,  we  lift ; 

We  praise  Thee,  Maker,  that  Thou,  first, 

Didst  form  us,  from  the  clay  ; 
And  gav'st  us  souls,  to  love  Thy  name, 

To  worship,  and  obey. 

We  praise  Thee,  that  the  souls  Thou  gav'st, 

Thou,  still,  in  life  dost  hold  : 
Preserver,  noon  would  fade  to  night, 

Ere  half  Thy  love,  were  told  ! 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

We  praise  Thee,  Saviour,  that  Thou  didst 

Our  souls,  from  death  release, 
And,  with  Thine  own  atoning  blood, 

Procure  us,  endless  peace. 

Maker,  Preserver,  Saviour,  God  ! 

What  varied  thanks,  we  owe 
To  Thee,  howe'er  addressed  ;  from  Whom, 

Such  varied  blessings  flow : 

To  Thee,  who  on  a  darken'd  world, 

Celestial  light,  hast  pour'd  ; 
And  told  of  heav'n,  and  taught  the  way, 

In  Thy  most  holy  Word. 

Wide,  as  the  blaze  of  noon  is  spread, 
Spread  Thou,  that  Word  abroad : 

We  ask  it,  Saviour,  in  Thy  name ; 
Maker,  Preserver,  God. 


EVENING. 

Psalm  cxli.  2. 

1  SOFTLY  now  the  light  of  day 
Fades  upon  my  sight  away  ; 
Free  from  care,  from  labour  free, 
Lord,  I  would  commune  with  Thee 

1  Since  inserted  among  the  hymns  in  the  Prayer  Book. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Thou,  whose  all-pervading  eye, 
Naught  escapes,  without,  within, 

Pardon  each  infirmity, 

Open  fault,  and  secret  sin. 

Soon,  for  me,  the  light  of  day 

Shall  for  ever,  pass  away  ; 
Then,  from  sin  and  sorrow,  free, 

Take  me,  Lord,  to  dwell  with  Thee 

Thou,  who,  sinless,  yet  hast  known 

All  of  man's  infirmity ; 
Then,  from  Thine  eternal  throne, 

Jesus,  look  with  pitying  eye. 


MIDNIGHT. 

"  God  my  Maker,  who  giveth  songs  in  the  night." 

AT  midnight  hour,  O  Lord,  I  wake, 

To  think  upon  Thy  name  ; 
To  call  to  mind  Thy  gracious  acts, 

And  all  Thy  praise,  proclaim  ; 
And  though  no  friendly  ray  should  shine, 
Nor  single  eye  should  wake,  but  mine, 
My  spirit  knows  no  startling  fear, 
Convinced  that  Thou,  my  God,  art  near. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Thou,  in  my  time  of  deep  distress, 

Didst  aid  me,  from  on  high  ; 
Didst  wipe  the  starting  tear,  away, 

And  still  the  bursting  sigh  : 
Life  cannot  throw  so  deep  a  gloom, 
There  is  no  darkness  in  the  tomb, 
Can  e'er  disturb  my  breast  with  fear, 
For  Thou,  my  God,  wilt  still  be  near. 


THE  VOICE  OF  RAMA. 

"  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  and  would  not  be  comforted. 

HEARD  ye  from  Rama's  ruined  walls, 

That  voice  of  bitter  weeping  ? 
Is  it  the  moan,  of  fetter'd  slave  ; 

His  watch,  of  sorrow,  keeping  ? 
Heard  ye,  from  Rama's  wasted  plains, 

That  cry  of  lamentation  ? 
Is  it  the  wail  of  Israel's  sons, 

For  Salem's  devastation  ? 

Ah,  no,  a  sorer  ill,  than  chains, 

That  bitter  wail,  is  waking  ; 
And  deeper  woe,  than  Salem's  fall, 

That  tortured  heart  is  breaking  : 
'Tis  Rachel,  of  her  sons  bereft  ; 

Who  lifts  that  voice  of  weeping ; 
And  childless  are  the  eyes,  that  there, 

Their  watch,  of  grief,  are  keeping. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Oh  !  who  shall  tell,  what  fearful  pangs, 

That  mother's  heart,  are  rending  ; 
As  o'er  her  infant's  little  grave, 

Her  wasted  form  is  bending ; 
From  many  an  eye,  that  weeps  to-day, 

Delight  may  beam,  to-morrow; 
But  she,  her  precious  babe  is  not  ! 

A.nd  what  remains,  but  sorrow  ? 

Bereaved  One  !   I  may  not  chide 

Thy  tears,  and  bitter  sobbing ; 
Weep  on  !  't  will  cool  that  burning  brow, 

And  still  that  bosom's  throbbing; 
But,  be  not  thine,  such  grief  as  theirs, 

To  whom,  no  hope  is  given : 
Snatched  from  the  world,  its  sins  and  snares, 

Thy  infant  rests,  in  Heaven. 


"I  am  the  Way,  and  the  Truth,  and  the  Life."  z 

THOU  art  the  Way ;  to  Thee  alone, 
From  Sin,  and  Death,  we  flee; 

And  he,  who  would  the  Father  seek, 
Must  seek  Him,  Lord,  by  Thee. 

1  Since  inserted  among  the  hymns  in  the  Prayer  Book.  A  few  nights  before 
Bishop  White  died,  as  my  Father  was  watching  at  his  bedside,  he  asked  him  to 
read  this  hymn. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Thou  art  the  Truth  ;  Thy  word  alone, 

True  wisdom,  can  impart ; 
Thou  only  canst  inform  the  mind, 

And  purify  the  heart. 

Thou  art  the  Life  ;  the  rending  tomb, 
Proclaims  Thy  conquering  arm, 

And  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Thee, 
Nor  death,  nor  hell,  shall  harm. 

Thou  art  the  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life ; 

Grant  us,  that  Way  to  know, 
That  Truth,  to  keep  ;  that  Life,  to  win ; 

Whose  joys,  eternal  flow. 


THE  WATERS  OF  MARAH. 

"  And  Moses  cried  unto  the  Lord  j   and  the  Lord  showed  him  a  tree,  which, 
when  he  had  cast  into  the  waters,  the  waters  were  made  sweet." 

BY  Marah's  stream  of  bitterness, 

When  Moses  stood  and  cried, 
Jehovah  heard  his  fervent  prayer, 

And  instant  help,  supplied  : 
The  Prophet  sought  the  precious  tree, 

With  prompt,  obedient  feet ; 
'Twas  cast  into  the  fount,  and  made 

The  bitter  waters  sweet. 


8  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Whene'er  affliction,  o'er  thee  sheds 

Its  influence  malign, 
Then,  sufferer,  be  the  Prophet's  prayer, 

And  prompt  obedience,  thine  : 
'Tis  but  a  Marah's  fount,  ordained, 

Thy  faith  in  God,  to  prove  ; 
And  prayer  and  resignation  shall 

Its  bitterness,  remove. 


"Our  Father,  who  art  in  Heaven." 

"  OUR  Father — "  such  Thy  gracious  name, 
Though  throned  above  the  starry  frame, 
Thy  holy  name,  be  still  adored, 
Eternal  God,  and  Sov'reign  Lord  : 
Spread  far  and  wide,  Thy  righteous  sway ; 
Till  utmost  earth,  Thy  laws,  obey  ; 
And,  as  in  Heaven,  before  Thy  throne, 
So  here,  Thy  will,  by  all,  be  done: 
This  day,  Great  Source  of  every  good, 
Feed  us,  with  our  convenient  food  : 
As  we,  to  all,  their  faults  forgive, 
So  bid  us,  by  Thy  pardon,  live : 
Let  not  our  feeble  footsteps  stray, 
Seduced  by  sin,  from  Thy  right  way  : 
But,  saved  from  evil  work,  and  word, 
Make  us  Thine  own,  Almighty  Lord : 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

For  Thine  the  sceptre  is,  and  throne, 
That  shall  be  crush'd,  or  shaken,  never 

The  glory  Thine,  O  God,  alone, 

And  power  that  shall  endure,  for  ever. 


"  Lord,  I  believe  :  help  Thou  mine  unbelief." 

"LoRD,  I  believe,"  the  father  cried; 

"  Help  Thou  mine  unbelief: 
O  !  if  Thou  canst,  have  mercy  now, 

And  give  my  child  relief !" 

The  father's  fervent  prayer  was  heard, 

Fulfill'd,  the  father's  joy  ; 
The  Saviour  pitied,  spake,  and  healed 

His  poor  demoniac  boy. 

Sinner,  this  Lord  is  still  the  same, 

Still  waiting,  to  forgive  ; 
Seek,  then,  His  cleansing,  saving  blood, 

Believe,  obey,  and  live. 

Sufferer,  it  is  thy  Father  smites, 
Thy  Father's  chastening  love  : 

The  hand  that  gives,  will  heal  the  wound, 
In  fairer  realms  above. 
2 


10  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Christian,  'tis  there  thy  Saviour  reigns, 

Enthroned  above  the  skies, 
And  thither,  freed  from  death's  dark  thrall, 

Thy  ransom'd  soul  shall  rise. 

Believer,  press  undaunted  on, 
Nor  heed  earth's  dull  delay, 

While  angels  wait,  to  welcome  thee, 
To  realms  of  ceaseless  day. 

Sinner,  no  more,  nor  sufferer  then, 

Life's  painful  journey  o'er, 
Thine  is  the  Christian  heritage 

Of  joy,  for  ever  more  ; 

And  crowns  of  quenchless  glory  thine, 

Thy  constancy's  reward ; 
Believer,  thine,  in  Heaven  to  dwell 

Forever  with  the  Lord. 


THE  LOVE  OF  CHRIST. 

"  Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  ?" 

SHALL  tribulation's  deep  distress, 
Or  fear,  or  want,  or  nakedness, 
Or  cruel  foe,  or  conquering  sword, 
Divide  us,  from  thy  love,  O  Lord  ? 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  I  I 

No,  vain  alike,  were  death,  and  life, 
And  powers  of  hell,  and  Satan's  strife, 

And  things  that  are,  and  things  to  be, 
To  separate  us,  Lord,  from  Thee  ! 

So  shall  we,  Saviour,  through  Thy  love, 
In  all  things,  more  than  conquerors  prove; 

Nor  grave  shall  hold,  nor  hell  shall  harm, 
The  ransom'd  of  Thy  holy  arm. 


THE  FAITHFUL  SAYING. 

"  This  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus, 
came  into  the  world,  to  save  sinners." 

YES,  it  is  a  faithful  saying, 

Christ,  the  Saviour,  died  for  me  : 

Haste  my  soul,  without  delaying, 
To  His  great  atonement,  flee. 

Shall  the  Lord  of  earth  and  heaven, 

Sojourning  with  sinful  men, 
Die,  that  they  may  be  forgiven, 

Yet  his  death,  be  all  in  vain  ? 

No,  by  every  drop,  that's  streaming 
Down,  from  that  accursed  tree, 

By  Thy  death,  my  soul  redeeming, 
Saviour,  I  will  come  to  Thee  ! 


12  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Worldly  riches,  honours,  pleasures, 
Shall  no  more,  my  soul  detain  ; 

Dearer,  Thou,  than  all  the  treasures, 
Earth  can  give,  or  life  can  gain. 


THE  SINNER  CALLED. 

RETURN,  and  come  to  God, 

Cast  all  your  sins  away, 
Seek  ye  the  Saviour's  cleansing  blood, 

Repent,  believe,  obey. 

Say  not,  ye  cannot  come, 

For  Jesus  bled,  and  died, 
That  none,  who  ask  in  humble  faith, 

Should  ever  be  denied. 

Say  not,  ye  will  not  come 
'Tis  God,  vouchsafes  to  call, 

And  fearful,  shall  their  end  be  found, 
On  whom,  His  wrath  shall  fall. 

Come,  then,    whoever  will, 
Come,  while  'tis  called  to-day, 

Flee  to  the  Saviour's  cleansing  blood, 
Repent,  believe,  obey. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  13 

"  In  the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the  day  of  judgment." 

MY  God,  when  nature's  frame  shall  sink, 
And  totter  on  destruction's  brink, 
Be  Thou  my  portion,  and  my  cup, 
And  bear  my  fainting  spirit,  up. 

For  Thou  didst  form  me  first,  from  clay ; 
Hast  led  me,  through  life's  devious  way  ; 
Then  take,  O  God,  my  parting  breath, 
Support  me  in  the  hour  of  death. 

And  when  before  the  throne  I  stand, 
And  wait  Thy  judgment's  dread  command, 
Do  Thou,  my  strong  supporter,  be, 
And  save  the  soul,  that  trusts  in  Thee. 

Thou,  Saviour,  for  my  sins  hast  died, 
Thy  grace  alone,  my  strength  supplied  ; 
Then  cast  me  not,  O  Lord,  away, 
But  save  me,  in  the  judgment  day. 


THE  PLAGUE  OF  DARKNESS. 

"  But  all  the  children  of  Israel  had  light  in  their  dwellings." 

WHEN  darkness  erst,  by  God's  command, 
Enveloped  haughty  Egypt's  land, 
Throughout  that  long  and  fearful  night, 
In  Israel's  dwellings,  all  was  light. 


14  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

So,  to  the  righteous,  light  shall  rise, 
Though  clouds  and  tempests  wrap  the  skies, 
And  faith,  triumphant,  mock  the  gloom, 
That  gathers  round  the  silent  tomb. 

Then  grant  us,  God,  while  here  we  rove, 
Thy  will  to  know,  Thy  ways  to  love, 
To  prove  the  riches  of  Thy  grace, 
And  share  the  brightness  of  Thy  face  ; 

Till,  guided,  so  in  all  our  way, 
And  cheered  by  Thy  celestial  ray, 
We  reach,  at  last,  that  heavenly  height, 
Where  all  is  peace,  and  joy,  and  light. 


Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  Thou  hast  the  words  of  eternal  life.' 

LORD,  should  we  leave  Thy  hallowed  feet, 

To  whom  should  we  repair  ? 
Where  else,  such  holy  comforts  meet, 

As  spring,  eternal,  there  ? 

Earth  has  no  fount  of  true  delight, 

No  pure,  perennial  stream  ; 
And  sorrow's  storm,  and  death's  long  night, 

Soon  wrap  life's  brightest  beam. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  15 

Unmingled  joys,  'tis  Thine  to  give, 

And  undecaying  peace  ; 
For  Thou  canst  teach  us,  so  to  live, 

That  life  shall  never  cease. 


Thou,  only,  canst,  the  cheering  words 

Of  endless  life,  supply, 
Anointed,  of  the  Lord  of  Lords, 

The  Son  of  God,  most  High. 


THE  WATER  OF  LIFE. 

"  Whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life  freely. 

Ho  !  all  that  thirst,  draw  nigh, 
And  drink  of  that  pure  fount, 

Which  issues  forth  eternally, 
From  Zion's  holy  mount. 

Haste  to  that  blessed  fold, 
Which  Jesus  first  ordained, 

And  which,  His  hand  and  holy  arm, 
Have  ever  since  maintained. 

There,  shall  the  sacred  Fount, 
Wash  all  your  sins  away, 

And  fit  you,  so  your  faith  be  firm, 
For  realms  of  endless  day. 


1 6  SONGS    BY    THE    WAY. 

There,  is  that  Word  dispensed, 

By  which  alone,  we  live, 
Which  only  can  our  hopes  confirm, 

And  joys  eternal,  give. 

There  is  that  Feast  prepared, 
For  those  in  Christ  who  live  ; 

Rich  banquet  !  where  the  contrite  heart 
True  comfort  shall  receive. 

Come,  then,  the  Spirit  cries, 
And  she,  the  heavenly  Bride, 

Come,  all  that  are  athirst,  nor  fear 
That  one  shall  be  denied. 

Come,  whosoever  will, 

Nor  price,  nor  money  bring  ; 

Come  to  that  fount,  whose  streams  of  life 
Through  endless  ages,  spring. 


"The  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away." 

IN  careless  childhood's  sunny  hours, 
When  all  we  love,  is  nigh, 

No  thorn,  amid  life's  opening  flowers, 
No  cloud,  in  all  its  sky  ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  17 

We  fear  no  ill,  nor  dream  of  care, 

But  deem,  each  following  day, 
Shall  light  us,  on,  to  fairer  scenes, 

And  beam,  with  brighter  ray. 

And  childhood's  vernal  season  past ; 

And  shunned  youth's  thousand  snares, 
When  manhood's  autumn  comes  at  last, 

With  sorrows,  fears,  and  cares, 
Still,  autumn-like,  its  skies  are  bright, 

And  still,  the  world  seems  young, 
And  still,  we  love  its  mellow  light, 

Its  bowers,  with  fruitage  hung. 

But  autumn's  golden  skies  must  fade, 

And  autumn's  fruits  decay, 
And  soon,  'mid  snows  and  storms,  must  come 

Old  age's  wintry  day. 
A  wintry  day  at  best,  as  short, 

As  gloomy,  and  as  cold, 
Till  the  worn  body  yields  at  last, 

And  life  lets  go  its  hold. 

And  when  its  earthly  hold  is  gone, 

The  world's  brief  fashion  past, 
Are  there  no  hopes,  that  shall  survive, 

No  pleasures,  that  shall  last  ? 
Yes,  Christian,  it  is  thine  to  know, 

Life's  but  a  weary  way, 
A  short,  though  painful,  pilgrimage, 

To  realms  of  endless  day  ; 
3 


I  8  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Where  Faith,  her  crown  of  life,  shall  wear, 

And  Hope,  be  lost  in  joy, 
And  meek-eyed  love,  be  paid  with  bliss, 

That  time  can  ne'er  destroy  : 
For  thither,  has  the  Lamb  gone  up, 

Who  suffered,  and  was  slain, 
That,  risen  with  Him,  His  followers  might 

With  Him,  for  ever,  reign. 


TO  A  VERY  DEAR  FRIEND.1 

" Friendship,  I  owe  thee  much." 

DARK  to  the  soul,  and  desolate, 

Life's  sunniest  hours  would  be, 
And  cheerless,  fortune's  best  estate, 

Fair  Friendship  !  but  for  thee. 
And  oh  !  when  tempests  wrap  the  skies, 

How  comfortless,  their  gloom, 
Did  not  thy  radiant  visions  rise, 

Our  darkness  to  illume  ! 

Friend  of  my  heart !  in  hours  of  joy, 

I've  listened  to  thy  voice  ; 
And  felt,  in  each  inspiring  tone, 

New  motive,  to  rejoice  ; 

1  The  venerable  Rector  of  Trinity  Church,  New  York,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Berrian. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  19 

And  oft,  with  anxious  cares  oppressed, 

And  griefs,  thou  didst  not  know, 
Thy  kindness  has  relieved  my  breast, 

And  lightened  every  woe. 

Oh  !   I  have  loved,  with  thee  to  rove, 

In  Spring's  reviving  hour, 
Ere  verdure  yet,  had  clad  the  grove, 

Or  fragrance  filled  the  flower  ; 
And  joyed,  when  Summer  found  us  laid, 

Beneath  some  aged  oak, 
Where,  save  the  streamlet's  bubbling  tale, 

No  sound,  the  stillness  broke. 

With  thee,  when  Autumn's  mellowing  hand 

Has  tinged  the  woods  with  gold, 
How  dear,  to  mark  each  varied  tint 

Successively  unfold  ! 
And  e'en  in  Winter's  sullen  hour, 

To  roam,  delighted,  on, 
And  feel,  that  not  in  Summer  bower, 

Is  nature  wooed,  alone. 

J 

Those  happy  hours,  those  happy  hours, 

Have  flitted  on  the  wind  ; 
But  many  a  dear  remembrance  lives, 

Deep  in  my  heart,  entwined ; 
And  oft,  the  chords  with  which  they're  bound. 

Shall  fancy  wake  again  ; 
And  memory  love  to  linger  long, 

Delighted,  on  that  strain. 


20  SONGS    BY    THE    WAY. 


LIFE'S  LITTLE  LINES. 

"  Noting,  ere  they  fade  away, 
The  little  lines  of  yesterday." 

LIFE'S  "  little  lines  ;"  how  short,  how  faint, 

How  fast  they  fade  away  ; 
Its  highest  hopes,  its  brightest  joys, 

Are  compassed,  in  a  day. 

Youth's  bright,  and  mild,  and  morning  light, 

Its  sunshine,  and  its  showers, 
Its  hopes  and  fears,  its  loves  and  tears, 

Its  heedless,  happy  hours  ; 
And  manhood's  high  and  brightened  noon, 

Its  honours,  dangers,  cares, 
The  parents'  pains,  the  parents'  joys, 

The  parents'  anxious  prayers ; 
Fade  in  old  age's  evening  gray, 

The  twilight  of  the  mind  ; 
Then  sink,  in  death's  long,  dreamless  night, 

And  leave  no  trace,  behind. 

Yet,  though  so  changing,  and  so  brief, 

Our  life's  eventful  page, 
It  has  its  charms,  for  every  grief, 

Its  joys,  for  every  age. 

In  youth's,  in  manhood's,  golden  hours, 
Loves,  friendships,  strew  the  way 

With  April's  earliest,  sweetest  flowers, 
And  all  the  bloom  of  May  ; 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  21 

And  when  old  age,  with  wintry  hand, 

Has  frosted  o'er,  the  head, 
Virtue's  fair  fruits,  survive  the  blast, 

When  all  beside,  are  fled  ; 
And  faith,  with  pure,  unwavering  eye, 

Can  pierce  the  gathered  gloom  •, 
And  smile  upon  the  spoiler's  rage, 

And  live,  beyond  the  tomb. 

Be  ours,  then,  virtue's  deathless  charm, 

And  faith's  untiring  flight ; 
Then  shall  we  rise,  from  death's  dark  sleep, 

To  worlds  of  cloudless  light. 


THERMOPYLAE. 

TtEpi,  TCapSsve,  juopcpat, 

ev  'Ehhadt 


'Twas  an  hour  of  fearful  issues, 

When  the  bold  three  hundred  stood, 
For  their  love  of  holy  freedom, 
By  that  old  Thessalian  flood  ; 
When,  lifting  high  each  sword  of  flame, 
They  called  on  every  sacred  name, 
And  swore,  beside  those  dashing  waves, 
They  never,  never,  would  be  slaves  ! 


22  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY 

And  Oh  !  that  oath  was  nobly  kept : 

From  morn,  to  setting  sun, 
Did  desperation  urge  the  fight, 

Which  valour  had  begun  ; 
Till,  torrent-like,  the  stream  of  blood 
Ran  down,  and  mingled  with  the  flood, 
And  all,  from  mountain-cliff,  to  wave, 
Was  Freedom's,  Valour's,  Glory's  grave. 

Oh,  yes,  that  oath  was  nobly  kept, 
Which  nobly,  had  been  sworn ; 

And  proudly,  did  each  gallant  heart 

The  foeman's  fetters  spurn  ; 
"  And  firmly,  was  the  fight  maintained, 
And  amply,  was  the  triumph  gained  ; 

They  fought,  fair  Liberty,  for  Thee  ; 

They  fell ;  to  die  is  to  be  free. 


"  And  I  said,  Oh  !  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove  5  for  then 
would  I  flee  away  and  be  at  rest." 

WHO  that  has  mingled  in  the  fray, 

Or  borne  the  storms  of  life, 
Has  not  desir'd  to  flee  away 

From  all  its  sin  and  strife  ; 
Has  not  desir'd  to  flee  away, 

Like  yonder  startled  dove, 
And  seek,  in  some  far  wilderness 

A  nestling-place  of  love  ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  23 

Where  the  tumult,  if  heard,  should  excite  no  alarm, 
And  the  storm  and  the  tempest  sweep  by  without  harm  ? 

Who  that  has  felt  the  rankling  wound 

Of  disappointment's  sting, 
Or  prov'd  the  worse  than  vanity 

Of  every  earthly  thing, 
Has  not  desired,  like  yon  sweet  dove, 

To  wander  far  away, 
And  find  some  desert  lodging-place, 

And  there  forever  stay, 

Where  the  vain  show  of  earth  should  no  longer  delude, 
Where  the  fiend  disappointment  should  never  intrude  ? 

Who,  that  has  felt  the  crumbling  touch 

Of  premature  decay, 
Or,  sorer  far,  has  mourned  o'er  friends 

Torn  from  his  heart  away, 
Has  not  desir'd  like  yonder  dove 

To  seek  some  lonely  nest, 
And,  far  from  earth's  vain  fellowship, 

To  dwell  and  be  at  rest, 

Till  the  summons  be  heard  that  shall  bid  him  depart, 
And  forever  rejoice  the  beloved  of  his  heart  ? 

And  it  shall  be,  that  summons  of  joy  shall  be  giv'n, 
To  the  converse  of  saints,  to  the  mansions  of  Heaven, 
Where  the  cross  of  the  sufPrer  shall  no  more  be  borne, 
But  the  crown  of  the  conq'ror  forever  be  worn. 

'  Tis  the  promise  of  Christ,  to  the  poor  shall  be  given, 
And  humble  and  contrite,  the  kingdom  of  Heaven, 


24  SONGS  BY  THE  WAV. 

And  who  would  not  toil  through  this  pathway  of  pain, 
And  who  would  not  suffer,  such  promise  to  gain  ! 

Bear  up  then,  my  soul,  'mid  the  darkness  and  storm, 
Nor  shrink  from  the  strife,  tho'  terrific  its  form, 
There  is  One  that  shall  guide  thee  and  guard  thee  from  harm, 
Whose  eye  is  unerring,  unconquered  His  arm. 

To  the  contrite  and  faithful,  the  promise  is  sure, 
And  salvation  is  pledg'd  to  the  souls  that  endure, 
And  the  crown  and  the  sceptre  shall  be  their  reward, 
Who  have  manfully  stood  on  the  side  of  the  Lord. 

Thou  that  seek'st  this  glorious  prize, 
Ask  no  more  for  wings  of  dove, 

Angel-pinioned  thou  shalt  rise, 
To  the  realms  of  peace  and  love. 

Realms,  where  Christ  has  gone  before, 

Blissful  mansions  to  prepare  ; 
Realms,  where  they  who  serve  Him  here, 

Shall  His  power  and  glory  share. 

There,  no  battle-fray  is  heard  ; 
There,  no  tempest  need  be  feared  ; 
Disappointment  cannot  sting  ; 
Banish'd  thence  each  hurtful  thing ; 
Sickness  comes  not  there,  nor  pain ; 
Death  hath  there  no  dark  domain  ; 
Gathered  there,  no  foot  shall  rove 
Of  the  happy  friends  we  love  ; 
Gathered  there,  no  soul  shall  roam  : 
'Tis  our  own,  our  Father's  Home. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  25 


FRAGMENT. 

'Twas  night  —  and  winds  were  raving  round, 
With  stern  December's  surly  sound  ; 
The  well-swept  hearth  was  burning  bright, 
And  shed  on  all  its  cheering  light ; 
The  doors  were  closed,  the  curtains  drawn, 
The  floor-cloth  smooth  as  verdant  lawn, 
And  all  was  joy,  and  sportive  mirth, 
Around  the  dear  domestic  hearth. 

Domestic  love  !  what  holier  shrine, 
Save  One,  is  reared  on  earth,  than  thine  ? 
Where,  as  when  clustered  round  thy  feet, 
Does  heart  meet  heart,  in  concord  sweet  ? 
Star  of  our  souls  where'er  we  roam, 
We  turn  to  thee,  delightful  home  ! 

'Twas  night  —  the  feather- footed  hours 
Had  fled,  as  if  they  "  stepped  on  flowers  ;" 
Had  noiseless  fled,  yet  left  behind 
In  happy  hearts,  mementos  kind 
Of  hours,  in  social  converse  spent, 
When  every  look  is  eloquent 
Of  moments  passed,  with  those  we  love, 
Prized  by  the  heart,  long  years,  above  : 
Moments,  which  shall  for  ever  be, 
Embalmed  in  fondest  memory. 
4 


26  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

The  jest,  the  laugh  had  circled  round, 
Mingled  with  music's  silver  sound  ; 
That  wild  and  witching  melody 

Which  moves,  at  once,  and  melts  the  soul, 
And  bids,  from  out  the  unconscious  eye, 

The  involuntary  tear-drop  roll. 
Such  notes  as  oft,  at  midnight  hour, 

The  sad  enthusiast,  ravish'd,  hears ; 
Far  echo  of  some  angel's  song, 

Sweet  harmony  of  circling  spheres. 
Those  notes,  those  notes,  they  linger  yet, 
Oh  !  who  that  heard  them,  could  forget  ! 
Speech  shall  be  lost,  and  thought,  as  soon 
As  that  sweet  voice,  and  "  Bonny  Doon." 


ROSEMARY. 

"  There's  rosemary, —  that's  for  remembrance  !" 

IT  is  not  the  brightest  and  sweetest  flow'r 

That  the  heart  of  affection  may  longest  cherish  ; 
For  when  the  winds  rise,  and  the  tempests  low'r, 

The  fairest  is  ever  the  first  to  perish  ; 
Oh  no,  the  wither'd  and  wild-wood  leaf 

Is  as  dear  to  the  heart,  for  it  will  not  vary ; 
And  dear,  e'en  the  straw  from  the  oaten  sheaf, 

And  the  simplest  sprig  of  the  sad  rosemary. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  2J 

The  rosemary,  friendship's  strongest  charm, 

"  Seeming  and  savour  the  winter  long," 
Through  the  year's  chill  night  it  receives  no  harm, 

Nor  fades,  though  the  tempest  beat  loud  and  strong  ; 
And  so  will  the  heart,  with  affection  warm, 

In  joy  and  in  sorrow  be  ever  the  same, 
And  the  blink  of  the  sun,  and  the  dash  of  the  storm, 

What  are  they  all  to  its  changeless  flame  ! 

They  say  that  the  rosemary  leaf  can  shed 

On  the  mem'ry  that's  fading,  a  magical  pow'r ; 
And,  sweetly  embalming  the  past  and  the  dead, 

With  the  dew  of  remembrance,  their  life  restore  ; 
Oh  !  thus  when  the  light  of  affection's  smile 

Has  beacon'd  me  over  the  world's  rough  wave, 
May  the  dew  of  its  tears,  when  my  voyage  is  done, 

Freshen  the  green  of  my  turf-covered  grave. 


REMEMBERED  JOYS. 

"  Sweet  mem'ry  !  wafted  by  thy  gentle  gale, 
Oft  up  the  stream  of  life  I  turn  my  sail, 
To  view  the  fairy  haunts  of  long-lost  hours, 
Blessed  with  far  greener  shades,  far  fresher  flow'rs." 

Remember'd  joys,  remember'd  joys, 
With  what  a  soft  and  "  dying  fall " 

Ye  breathe  upon  the  bosom,  where 

"  Hope  comes  no  more,  that  comes  to  all  ;" 


28  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Recalling  pleasure's  wildest  strains, 
Divested  now  of  all  their  madness, 

And  grief's  subduing  melodies, 

With  scarce  a  single  tone  of  sadness. 

Remember'd  joys  —  to  those  who  keep 
Their  vigils  sad,  while  others  sleep  ; 
To  eyes  unseen,  that  ceaseless  weep, 

And  watch  the  lingering  night  away, 
How  dear  the  calm  delights  you  give  ! 
Departed  lov'd  ones  seem  to  live, 
Departed  scenes  again  revive, 

Returns  again  youth's  golden  day  ; 
And  slowly  as  the  visions  move 
Of  youthful  friendship,  early  love, 

Before  the  enthusiast's  charmed  eyes, 
His  swelling  heart  forgets  its  pain, 
He  breathes  his  childhood's  air  again, 
He  treads  once  more  his  native  plain, 
And  gleams  of  bright-haired  hope  again  before  him  rise. 

Dim  twilight  of  remember'd  joys, 

I  would  not  give  one  gleam  of  thine, 
For  all  the  gaudy  world  can  yield, 

When  most  its  noontide  splendours  shine. 
Clouds  may  obscure  life's  brightest  days, 

And,  rainbow-like,  its  hopes  depart, 
But  oh  !  the  joys  of  other  years, 
Enshrin'd  by  love,  embalm'd  with  tears, 
Till  mem'ry  leaves  her  latest  hold, 

Shall  live  unalter'd  in  my  heart. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  29 


THE  FADED  FLOWER. 

The  flower  you  gave,  oh  !  lady  fair, 

Pale  as  it  seems,  and  scentless  now, 
Is  dearer  than  the  loveliest  rose 

That  blooms  on  Summer's  gaudy  brow. 
The  loveliest  rose  but  blooms  awhile, 

And  wafts  its  precious  perfumes  round  ; 
The  gale  sweeps  by,  it  charms  no  more  ; 

Its  scattered  leaflets  strew  the  ground. 

Not  so  the  little  flower  you  gave  ; 

Its  bloom  may  fade,  its  fragrance  flit, 
But  oh  !  the  charm  affection  lends, 

And  mem'ry  loves,  will  linger  yet : 
Will  linger  yet  —  long  years  have  pass'd, 

The  storm  has  fall'n,  the  gale  swept  by  : 
Still,  is  it  fragrant  to  my  heart, 

Still,  blooming  to  my  memory. 

There  is  a  bloom  no  time  can  fade, 

There  is  a  fragrance  will  not  part ; 
It  lives  unchanging  in  the  breast 

It  breathes  unfailing  in  the  heart. 
That  breast,  unnumbered  ills  may  wring, 

That  heart  may  bleed,  perchance  be  broken 
In  all  alike,  it  still  shall  charm, 

That  faded  flower,  that  cherished  token. 


30  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


THE  HEART'S  TRIBUTE. 

TO    AN    ABSENT    FRIEND.1 

"  Wi'  melting  heart,  an'  brimfu'  eye, 
"  I'll  mind  you  still,  tho  far  awa." 

WHEN  friends  are  met,  and  beaming  mirth 

Is  throned  in  every  eye, 
Why  wanders  oft,  the  absent  thought, 

And  starts,  the  secret  sigh  ? 
'Tis  the  silent  tribute,  of  heart  to  heart, 

Which  affection  loves  to  pay, 
And  'tis  wafted  off,  on  that  secret  sigh, 

To  the  friends  that  are  far  away. 

And  why,  amid  its  wreathed  smiles, 

Turns  pale  that  cheek  with  fear  ? 
And  why,  beneath  that  joyous  brow, 

Lurks  oft,  the  gushing  tear  ? 
'Tis  to  wet  the  graves  of  departed  joys, 

That  the  heart,  that  big  tear,  sends  ; 
And  the  fear,  that  pales  that  anxious  cheek, 

Is  the  fear,  for  absent  friends. 

There's  ONE,  his  name's  in  all  our  hearts, 

For  whom,  where'er  he  be, 
Our  kindest  thoughts,  our  fondest  prayers, 

Are  wafted  o'er  the  sea  : 

1  The  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Hobart. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

May  the  spirit  of  health,  be  on  every  breeze, 

And  of  joy,  in  every  ray, 
And  may  God,  in  mercy,  protect  the  friend 

Whom  we  love,  while  far  away  ! 


HOME. 

"The  music  of  Carrol  was  like  the  memory  of  joys  that  are  past,  pleasant,  but 
mournful  to  the  soul." —  Ossian. 

HOME  of  my  careless  infancy, 

How  dear  each  well-remembered  scene, 

Where  every  rock,  and  every  tree, 
Is  eloquent,  of  what  has  been. 

How  dear,  yet  ah  !  how  painful  too ; 

That  joy,  how  near  to  grief,  allied, 
When  thoughts  of  loved  ones,  now  no  more, 

Come  rushing  on  me,  like  a  tide. 

Departed  joys,  of  days  gone  by, 

As  slowly  on,  your  visions  roll, 
My  heart  is  softened,  and  subdued  ; 

Ye  soothe,  and  tranquillize  my  soul. 

Like  music,  wafted  on  the  gale, 

When  midnight  stillness  wraps  the  land, 

So  sweet  the  far-off  strains  ye  breathe, 
So  sad,  when  waked  by  memory's  hand. 


32  SONGS    BY    THE    WAY. 


"FORGET  ME  NOT." 

FORGET  thee  !  how  could  I  ?  each  morn  would  remind  me, 
Of  days,  which  thy  presence  has  hallowed  and  blest, 

And  each  night,  in  its  visions  and  dreams,  would  restore 

thee, 
All  pureness  and  beauty,  mine  angel  of  rest. 

Forget  thee  !  why  should  I  ?  since  with  thee,  is  blended, 
Each  scene  of  delight,  that  my  fancy  e'er  drew, 

And  the  hopes,  that  on  thee,  and  thy  love,  have  attended, 
Were  those  of  my  life,  I  most  wished  to  find  true. 

No,  trust  me,  that  fervent  and  fond  recollection, 
Those  hopes,  even  fonder,  can  never  depart, 

Till  the  holiest  fount  of  my  earthly  affection 

Shall  ebb,  with  the  warm  tide  of  life,  from  my  heart. 


SONS  OF  THE  GREEKS. 

TtaiSeS  rcav  ' 


"  SONS  of  the  Greeks,  arise  !" 
And  gird  your  armour  on  ; 

Your  bleeding  country's  rights  assert, 
Avenge  your  fathers'  wrong. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  33 

Sons  of  the  helmed  brave 

Who  held  Thermopylae, 
Dare,  as  they  dared,  the  turbaned  slave, 

And  Greece  shall  yet  be  free. 

Shades  of  the  brave,  who  bled 

Along  Cithaeron's  steep, 
And  still,  round  glory's  hallowed  bed, 

Your  watch  of  ages  keep  ; 
Say  —  shall  yon  tower-crowned  hill 

No  more  be  Freedom's  home  ? 
Her  flag,  no  more,  in  triumph  float, 

Amid  yon  ocean's  foam  ? 

Yes  !  soon  again  as  pure, 

Ilissus'  wave  shall  flow, 
And  soon,  on  famed  Hymettus'  hills, 

As  fragrant  flowers  shall  blow  ; 
For  freedom's  sun  shall  rise 

On  Attica  once  more, 
And  wind  and  wave,  shall  lash  and  lave, 

The  free  ^Egean  shore. 

Shades  of  the  mighty  dead, 

Whose  ashes  still  repose, 
Where  QEta  rears  his  star-girt  head, 

Where  cold  Eurotas  flows, 
Inspire  each  patriot's  heart, 

To  dare,  as  you  have  dared, 
Till  nerved  be  every  manly  arm, 

And  every  falchion  bared. 
5 


34  SONGS    BY    THE    WAY. 

Light,  light  the  quenchless  flame, 

In  every  warrior's  eye  ; 
Rouse,  rouse  the  glorious  battle-cry, 

For  Greece  —  for  Victory  ! 
Nor  let  the  combat  cease, 

While  Moslem  shall  remain 
To  mar  fair  Freedom's  festal  rites, 

Her  heritage,  to  stain. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  trumpet's  clang, 

The  squadron's  tramp,  I  hear  ; 
Clashes,  the  bright  broadsword,  again, 

And  ring,  the  shield  and  spear  : 
See  !  'tis  the  plumed  helm, 

The  banner  streaming  wide  ; 
The  Athenian  horsemen  mount  again, 

And  Spartan,  side  by  side. 

JTis  up  —  the  glorious  strife, 

By  field,  and  tower,  and  town  ; 
And  palace,  mosque,  and  minaret, 

And  frowning  fort,  are  down : 
The  Ottoman  retreats, 

The  Crescent  veils  its  ray, 
And  holy  hands,  in  Stamboul's  streets 

The  cross  of  Christ  display. 

"  Sons  of  the  Greeks  arise  !" 
Rise  in  your  fathers'  might, 

With  sword  girt  on,  and  spear  in  rest, 
Wage  Freedom's  holy  fight ; 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  35 

Swear  —  'twas  the  father's  oath, 

And  well  befits  the  son  — 
Swear,  free  to  live,  or  firm  to  die, 

"  By  those  in  Marathon  !" 


THE  MOURNED— THE  LOVED  — THE  LOST. 

WHY,  on  the  vanished  look,  the  by-past  tone, 
Loves  the  fond  heart,  devotedly  to  dwell  ? 

Why,  reckless  of  that  now  which  is  its  own, 
Of  hours  that  w ere,  delights  it  still  to  tell  ? 

Why,  for  its  pillaged  nestling  mourns  the  dove, 
With  all  her  living  loves,  still  all  unblest  ? 

Why  dotes  the  fond,  bereaved  mother  more 
On  her  dead  infant,  than  on  all  the  rest  ? 

Why  is  it,  that  around  the  loved  and  lost, 
Her  most  enchanting  radiance,  fancy  throws, 

While  all  the  past  is  robed  in  richer  green, 

And  fresher  fragrance  breathes  from  every  rose  ? 

Mysterious  Sympathy  !  thy  sacred  source, 

Thy  deep,  embosomed  springs,  we  cannot  tell, 

Nor  scan  thy  subtle,  undetected  laws, 

Though  each  effect,  we  feel  and  know  so  well. 


36  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

'Tis  thine,  the  withered  floweret,  most  to  prize, 
To  mourn  the  music  flown,  the  odour  shed  ; 

And,  in  the  hallowed  tomb  of  buried  love, 

To  twine  life's  best  affections,  round  the  dead. 


ON  A  VERY  OLD  WEDDING  RING. 

The  Device  —  Two  hearts  united. 
The  motto  —  "Dear  love  of  mine,  my  heart  is  thine." 

I  LIKE  that  ring,  that  ancient  ring, 
Of  massive  form,  and  virgin  gold, 

As  firm,  as  free  from  base  alloy, 
As  were  the  sterling  hearts  of  old. 

I  like  it,  for  it  wafts  me  back, 
Far,  far  along  the  stream  of  time, 

To  other  men,  and  other  days, 

To  men  and  days,  of  deeds  sublime. 

But  most  I  like  it,  as  it  tells 
The  tale  of  well-requited  love  ; 

How  youthful  fondness  persevered, 
And  youthful  faith  disdained  to  rove. 

How  warmly  he  his  suit  preferred, 
Though  she^  unpitying,  long  denied  ; 

Till,  softened  and  subdued  at  last, 

He  won  his  "  fair  and  blooming  bride." 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  37 

How,  till  the  appointed  day  arrived, 

They  blamed  the  lazy-footed  hours  ; 
How,  then,  the  white  robed  maiden  train, 

Strewed  their  glad  way,  with  freshest  flowers  ; 
And  how,  before  the  holy  man, 

They  stood,  in  all  their  youthful  pride, 
And  spoke  those  words,  and  vowed  those  vows, 

Which  bind  the  husband  to  his  bride ; 
All  this  it  tells  ;  the  plighted  troth, 

The  gift  of  every  earthly  thing, 
The  hand  in  hand,  the  heart  in  heart ; 

For  this,  I  like  that  ancient  ring. 

I  like  its  old  and  quaint  device  ; 

"Two   blended  hearts," — though  time  may  wear 

them  ; 
No  mortal  change,  no  mortal  chance, 

"  Till  death,"  shall  e'er  in  sunder  tear  them. 
Year  after  year ;  'neath  sun  and  storm, 

Their  hopes  in  heaven,  their  trust  in  God, 
In  changeless,  heartfelt,  holy  love, 

These  two  the  world's  rough  pathways  trod. 
Age  might  impair  their  youthful  fires, 

Their  strength  might  fail,  'mid  life's  bleak  weather, 
Still  hand  in  hand,  they  travelled  on  ; 

Kind  souls  !  they  slumber  now  together. 

I  like  its  simple  poesy  too : 

"  Mine  own  dear  love,  this  heart  is  thine  !" 
Thine,  when  the  dark  storm  howls  along, 

As  when  the  cloudless  sunbeams  shine. 


38  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

"  This  heart  is  thine,  mine  own  dear  love  !" 
Thine,  and  thine  only,  and  for  ever  ; 

Thine,  till  the  springs  of  life  shall  fail, 
Thine,  till  the  cords  of  life  shall  sever. 

Remnant  of  days  departed  long  ; 

Emblem  of  plighted  troth  unbroken  ; 
Pledge  of  devoted  faithfulness  ; 

Of  heartfelt,  holy  love,  the  token  ; 
What  varied  feelings,  round  it  cling  ! 

For  these,  I  like  that  ancient  ring. 


THAT  SILENT  MOON. 

« 

THAT  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon, 
Careering  now,  through  cloudless  sky  ; 

Oh  !  who  shall  tell,  what  varied  scenes 
Have  passed  beneath  her  placid  eye  ; 

Since  first,  to  light  this  wayward  earth, 

She  walked,  in  tranquil  beauty,  forth  ! 

How  oft,  has  guilt's  unhallowed  hand, 
And  superstition's  senseless  rite, 

And  loud,  licentious  revelry, 

Profaned  her  pure  and  holy  light : 

Small  sympathy  is  hers,  I  ween, 

With  sights  like  these,  that  Virgin  Queen  ! 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  39 

But  dear  to  her,  in  summer  eve, 

By  rippling  wave,  or  tufted  grove, 
When  hand,  in  hand,  is  purely  clasped, 

And  heart  meets  heart,  in  holy  love ; 
To  smile  in  quiet  loneliness 
And  hear  each  whispered  vow,  and  bless. 

Dispersed  along  the  world's  wide  way, 

When  friends  are  far,  and  fond  ones  rove, 

How  powerful  she,  to  wake  the  thought, 
And  start  the  tear,  for  those  we  love, 

Who  watch  with  us,  at  night's  pale  noon, 

And  gaze  upon  that  silent  moon. 

How  powerful  too,  to  hearts  that  mourn, 

The  magic  of  that  moonlight  sky, 
To  bring  again  the  vanish'd  scenes  — 

The  happy  eves  of  days  gone  by  : 
Again  to  bring,  'mid  bursting  tears, 
The  loved,  the  lost  of  other  years. 

And  oft  she  looks,  that  silent  moon, 
On  lonely  eyes,  that  wake  to  weep, 

In  dungeon  dark,  or  sacred  cell, 

Or  couch,  whence,  pain  has  banished  sleep  : 

Oh  !  softly,  beams  her  gentle  eye 

On  those  who  mourn,  and  those  who  die  ! 

But  beam,  on  whomsoe'er  she  will, 
And  fall,  where'er  her  splendours  may, 

There's  pureness,  in  her  chastened  light, 
There's  comfort,  in  her  tranquil  ray  : 


4O  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

What  power  is  hers,  to  soothe  the  heart  — 
What  power,  the  trembling  tear  to  start  ! 

The  dewy  morn,  let  others  love, 


Or  bask  them,  in  the  noon-tide  ray  ; 
There's  not  an  hour,  but  has  its  charm, 

From  dawning  light,  to  dying  day  :  — 
But  oh  !  be  mine  a  fairer  boon, 
That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon  ! 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAV.  41 


translations  anti  limitations, 

MORNING  HYMN. 

"  Rex  sempiterne  coelitum." 

MAKER  of  all  in  Heaven  and  earth, 

Lord  of  the  hosts  on  high, 
Thou  Son,  Who,  with  the  Father,  art, 

From  all  eternity, 
'Twas  Thou,  Who,  when  the  world  was  new, 

Creating  man,  of  earth, 
Didst  give  him,  in  Thine  image  made, 

A  soul  of  heavenly  birth. 

And  when  by  spite  and  fraud  of  hell, 

That  image  was  decayed, 
Veiled  in  the  flesh,  'twas  Thou  restor'dst, 

The  soul,  Thyself  hadst  made. 

Great  Shepherd,  Who  Thy  flock  dost  wash 

In  baptism's  sacred  wave; 
Be  this  the  pool,  to  cleanse  our  souls  ; 
-  Of  all  our  sins,  the  grave  ; 
That,  buried  there,  with  Thee,  we  may 

With  Thee,  our  life  resume, 
Who,  of  a  Virgin  born,  wast  made 
The  first  fruits  of  the  tomb. 
6 


42  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Redeemer,  Thou,  who,  to  the  cross 

Due  to  our  sins,  wast  led, 
And  there,  salvation's  countless  price, 

Thy  precious  blood  didst  shed  ; 
Do  Thou,  our  souls,  renewed  to  life, 

From  sin  and  death,  set  free, 
That  thus,  Thy  endless  joy,  O  Lord, 

Our  heritage,  may  be. 

Then  to  the  Father,  and  the  Son, 
Who  rose,  and  reigns  in  Heaven, 

And  to  the  blessed  Comforter, 
Shall  ceaseless  praise  be  given. 


HYMN. 

FOR  THE  SEASON  OF  LENT. 
"  Audi,  benigne  Conditor." 

FATHER  of  Mercies,  hear  ! 

Thy  pardon,  we  implore, 
While  daily,  through  this  sacred  fast, 

Our  prayers,  our  tears,  we  pour. 

Searcher  of  hearts,  to  Thee, 
Our  helplessness  is  known  ; 

Be  then,  to  those,  who  seek  Thy  face, 
Thy  free  forgiveness,  shown. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  43 

Our  sins  have  numerous  been, 

We  own  it,'Lord,  with  shame  ; 
Yet  spare,  and  heal,  the  broken  heart ; 

Spare,  for  Thy  glorious  name. 

Grant  us,  the  body  so, 

By  fasting,  to  restrain, 
That  sinful  thoughts,  and  vain  desires, 

Our  souls,  no  more  may  stain. 

Thus,  to  Thy  contrite  ones, 

Thy  mercy  shall  be  shown  ; 
We  ask  it,  blessed  One  in  Three, 

We  ask  it,  Three  in  One.. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

"  Ecce  jam  noctis  tenuatur  umbra." 

THE  shades  of  night  are  flitting  fast, 
The  golden  east  is  streaked  with  day, 

And  now,  O  Lord  of  life,  and  light, 

With  thankful  hearts,  to  Thee  we  pray. 

Sinners  we  are,  yet  hear  us,  Lord 
In  pity  hear,  and  send  us  peace  ; 

Thy  saving  health,  to  all  afford, 

And  bid  each  sin  and  sorrow  cease. 


44  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Grant  it,  eternal  Trinity, 

The  Father,  Son,  and  Spirit  blessed, 

Whose  glory  is,  and  still  shall  be, 

Through  all  the  world,  with  joy,  confessed. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

"  Jam  lucis  orto  sidere." 

WITH  dawning  light,  O  Lord,  to  Thee, 

On  bended  knee,  we  pray, 
That  Thou,  from  every  hurtful  thing, 

Would'st  keep  us,  through  this  day. 

Guard  Thou,  from  guile,  our  froward  tongue, 

Lest  sinful  strife  arise  ; 
Guide  Thou  our  feeble,  erring  sight, 

Lest  vanity  entice. 

Cleanse,  Lord,  our  hearts  from  every  sin, 

Free  them,  from  folly  too, 
And  let  continual  temperance, 

Each  carnal  lust,  subdue  : 

That  so,  when  days  shall  dawn  no  more, 

Nor  nights,  their  shadows  fling, 
Free  from  the  world,  and  all  its  stains, 

Thy  praises,  we  may  sing. 


SONGS   BY  THE  WAY.  45 

For  Thou,  O  God  !  and  Thou  alone, 

Art  worthily  adored. 
Who,  with  the  Son,  and  Spirit,  art 

But  one  Almighty  Lord. 

To  Him,  therefore,  be  glory  given, 

Whom,  Virgin  Mother  bore, 
With  Father,  and  with  Holy  Ghost, 

Both  now,  and  evermore. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

"  Consors  Paterni  luminis." 

BRIGHTNESS  of  the  Father's  glory, 
Light  of  Light,  unclouded  day, 

Lo  !  we  rise,  to  sing  Thy  praises ; 
Hear  us,  help  us,  while  we  pray. 

Lighten  Thou,  our  mental  darkness, 
Bid  each  hellish  tempter,  flee, 

Rouse  our  dulness,  lest  it  deaden 
Our  devotions,  Lord,  to  Thee. 

Saviour,  deign  to  each  believer, 
These,  Thy  favours,  to  extend  ; 

Answered  thus,  our  prayers  and  praises 
Shall,  for  evermore,  ascend. 


46  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Hear  us,  Father,  we  intreat  Thee, 
Hear  us,  Saviour,  we  implore, 

Hear  and  help  us,  Holy  Spirit  — 
Thou,  that  reignest  evermore. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

"  Tu  Trinitatis  unitas." 

THREE  in  One,  arid  One  in  Three, 
Sovereign  of  the  Universe, 

Hear  our  morning  minstrelsy, 
Listen  to  our  thankful  verse. 

From  our  couches,  lo  !  we  rise, 
Seeking  'mid  the  darkness  still, 

Help  for  our  infirmities, 
Medicine  for  every  ill. 

If  in  dreams,  by  Satan's  fraud, 

Thought  or  wish  hath  gone  astray, 

Let  Thy  glorious  power,  O  Lord, 
Wash  the  secret  sin  away. 

Keep  our  bodies  free  from  stain, 
Keep  our  hearts  from  coldness  free, 

Let  no  taint  of  vice  inflame, 
Our  spirits  dedicate  to  Thee. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  47 

Thus,  Redeemer,  while  we  pray, 

Fill  us  with  Thy  heavenly  light, 
Then,  throughout  each  circling  day, 

Thoughts  and  deeds  shall  all  be  right  : 
Aid  us  Father,  we  intreat ; 

Aid  us,  Thou,  eternal  Son  ; 
Aid  us,  Spirit,  Paraclete  — 

One  in  Three,  and  Three  in  One : 
Thou,  in  our  behalf  engage, 
Thou,  that  reign'st  from  age  to  age  ! 


HYMN  FOR  NOON. 

u  Rector  potens,  verax  Deus." 

GOD  of  truth,  Almighty  King, 
Lord  of  each  created  thing, 
Thou  that  light'st  the  dawning  day, 
And  kindlest  high  the  noontide  ray ; 

Quench  in  us  each  flame  of  strife, 
Banish  ev'ry  ill  of  life, 
To  each  body  nealth  impart, 
Shed  Thy  peace  on  every  heart. 

Grant  it  now,  O  Holy  One ; 
Grant  it,  Thou,  eternal  Son  ; 
Grant  it  Spirit,  we  implore, 
Thou  that  reignest  evermore. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 
EVENING  HYMN. 

"Jam  sol  recedit  igneus." 

Now,  as  sinks  the  blazing  sun, 
Thou,  eternal  Three  in  One, 
Fountain  of  unclouded  day, 
Fill  us  with  Thy  purer  ray. 

Thee  we  praise  at  morning's  dawn, 
Thee  implore  when  eve  comes  on 
Grant  us,  suppliant  here,  to  raise 
In  Heaven,  unmingled  songs  of  praise. 

Thus,  the  Father,  and  the  Son, 

And  the  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 

As  of  old,  shall  ever  be 

Praised  and  worshipped,  One  in  Three. 


EVENING  HYMN. 

"  Te  lucis  ante  terminum." 

Creator  of  the  world, 

As  now  the  day  departs, 
We  ask  it  for  Thy  mercy's  sake, 

Guide  Thou,  and  guard  our  hearts. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  49 

Let  no  foul  forms  of  night, 

In  dreams  our  souls  beguile, 
Nor  suffer,  Lord,  our  mortal  foe 

Thy  temples  to  defile. 

O  Holiest  !  grant  it  now, 

And  Thou,  co-equal  Son, 
And  Thou,  O  Spirit  Paraclete, 

Eternal  Three  in  One. 


HYMN  FOR  WHITSUNDAY. 

"  Veni,  Creator  Spiritus." 

Come,  Holy  Ghost,  Creator,  come, 
And  make  these  souls  of  ours  Thy  home  ; 
Come,  fill  our  hearts  with  grace  divine, 
Thou  mad'st  them  —  own  them  still  as  Thine 
To  Thee,  our  Comforter,  we  cry, 
The  gracious  gift  of  God  most  High  : 
Thine  is  the  unction  from  above, 
The  living  fount,  and  fire  of  love  ; 
Sevenfold  Thy  sacred  blessings  are, 
God's  promises  Thou  dost  declare, 
Hand  of  the  Father,  stretched  to  give 
That  blessed  Word  by  which  we  live. 
7 


50  SONGS    BY    THE    WAY. 

Oh  kindle,  Thou,  each  sluggish  sense, 
Thy  love  in  all  our  hearts  dispense, 
Strong  in  Thy  strength,  grant  us  to  bear 
Those  ills  to  which  our  flesh  is  heir. 
Drive  far  away  each  spiteful  foe, 
And  give  us  peace  while  here  below, 
That,  led  by  Thee,  O  Holy  One, 
Our  feet  each  sinful  snare  may  shun. 

Grant  us  the  Father  now  to  know, 

And  Son  eternal  to  confess, 
And  Thee,  who  from  them  both  dost  flow, 

Through  every  circling  year  to  bless ; 
That  so,  to  Him  who  spoiled  the  grave 

And  rose  triumphant  up  to  Heaven, 
With  Father,  and  with  Holy  Ghost, 

Eternal  glory  may  be  given. 


EVENING  HYMN. 

"Verbum  supernum  prodiens." 

Eternal  Word,  Who  dost  proceed 
From  out  the  bosom  of  our  God, 

And  cam'st,  in  hour  of  utmost  need, 
To  shield  us  from  th'  avenging  rod, 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  51 

O,  lighten  Thou  our  darkened  hearts, 

Inflame  us  with  celestial  love, 
And,  as  life's  empty  show  departs, 

Fill  us  with  comforts  from  above. 

Then,  when  the  uplifted  judgment  seat 

The  sinner's  sentence  shall  display, 
And  voices,  as  of  angels  sweet, 

Welcome  the  saints  to  realms  of  day  ; 
For  us  no  quenchless  flame  shall  rage, 

No  fiery  storms  our  rest  destroy  ; 
Thy  favour,  Lord,  our  heritage, 

Thy  presence  our  exceeding  joy. 

And  now  to  Father  and  to  Son, 

And  Spirit,  Paraclete,  to  Thee, 
The  One  in  Three,  the  Three  in  One, 

Be  praise  throughout  eternity. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

"  Veni  Creator  Spiritus. 

Creator,  Spirit,  come 

Visit  these  souls  of  Thine, 

And  fill  the  hearts,  Thyself  hast  made, 
With  influence  divine. 


52  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Thou  Comforter  art  called, 
The  gift  of  God  above  ; 

The  spiritual  unction  Thine, 
The  fount  and  fire  of  love. 

Send  down  Thy  holy  fire, 
Pour  out  Thy  heavenly  love 

And  bear  us  in  our  frailty  up, 
With  succours  from  above. 

Drive  far  away  each  foe, 
And  give  us  peace  at  home 

Be  Thou  our  guardian  and  our  guide, 
And  ills  shall  never  come. 


EVENING  HYMN. 

"  Creator  alme  siderum." 

Creator  of  the  starry  frame, 

Light  of  the  souls  who  trust  in  Thee, 
Jesus,  Redeemer  of  mankind, 

To  Thee  we  call  on  bended  knee. 

Thou,  when  the  tempter's  arts  prevailed, 
Didst  hasten  down  on  wings  of  love, 

To  shield  and  save  a  ruined  world, 

With  health  and  peace  from  heavqn  above, 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  53 

And  Thou,  unspotted  paschal  Lamb, 

The  Blessed  Virgin's  holy  Son, 
To  wash  our  souls  from  stain  of  sin, 

On  shameful  cross  didst  bleed  and  groan. 

Exalted  now,  Thy  glorious  power 

Extends  through  all  immensity, 
And  saints  in  heaven,  and  fiends  in  hell, 

Bow  at  Thy  name  with  trembling  knee. 

To  Thee,  then,  judge  of  all,  we  look  ; 

Grant  us  Thy  heavenly  help,  we  pray  ; 
Guide  us  in  life,  and  guard  in  death, 

And  shield  us  in  the  judgment  day. 

For  Thine  the  glory  is,  and  power, 

Eternal  Sire,  eternal  Son, 
Eternal  Spirit ;  Thine  the  praise, 

The  One  in  Three,  the  Three  in  One. 


FOR  THE  FESTIVAL  OF  THE  HOLY 
INNOCENTS. 

"Salvete  flores  Martyrum." 

The  jealous  tyrant  hears 

That  He,  the  Prince,  has  come 

Who  wide  o'er  Israel's  tribe  shall  rule 
From  David's  royal  home. 


54  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Infuriate  then,  he  cries, 

"  He's  come,  who  claims  my  throne  ; 
"  Go,  soldiers,  grasp  the  glittering  steel, 

Instant,  with  blood  each  cradle  fill, 
Slay  every  new-born  son." 

Vain  was  murderous  Herod's  word  ; 
Vain  was  soldier's  dripping  sword  ; 
Safe,  while  all  were  slaughtered  round, 
God's  anointed  was  not  found. 

Hail,  infant  sufferers  —  martyred  flowerets  hail ! 
Cut  off  by  ruthless  knife, 
Even  at  the  gate  of  life, 

Ye  fell,  as  new-blown  roses  fall,  when  scattered  by  the  gale, 
Earliest  of  all  were  ye,  that  suffered  for  the  Word ; 
Sweet  firstlings  of  that  slaughtered  flock,  so  precious  to  the 

Lord  : 

And  round  His  heavenly  altar  now,  His  high,  uplifted  throne, 
Ye  guileless  sport  the  crown  and  palm,  your  martyrdom  hath 
won. 

Therefore  to  Him  be  glory  given, 

Whom  Virgin  Mother  bore, 
With  Father,  and  with  Holy  Ghost 

One  God  forevermore. 


FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  SENECA. 
"  Stet  quicunque  volet." 

Let  him  stand,  whoever  will, 
On  promotion's  slippery  sill. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  55 

Me  let  quiet  satisfy, 
Sweeter  for  obscurity  ; 
Finding  every  real  pleasure 
In  a  bland  and  blessed  measure. 

By  the  world  of  men  unknown, 
Let  my  life  flow  silent  on, 
So,  when  all  its  days  are  past, 
Each  more  tranquil  than  the  last, 
Let  me  fill  an  old  man's  grave, 
No  man's  master,  no  man's  slave. 

Heaviest  on  him  doth  lie 

The  burden  of  mortality, 

Who,  known  to  all  the  world  beside, 

Stranger  to  himself  hath  died. 


Horace  3:13  of  Odes. 
"  O  fons  Blandusiae,  Splendidior  vitro." 

Blandusian  fount,  Blandusian  fount, 
Worthy  of  flowers  and  choicest  wine, 

To-morrow  shall  thy  glassy  wave 
Be  honoured  with  this  kid  of  mine. 

E'en  now  his  budding  front  he  rears, 
E'en  now  for  love  and  war,  prepares 
In  vain — for  with  to-morrow's  sun 
His  brief  career  shall  all  be  run, 
Poor  wanton  !  and  his  burning  blood, 
Empurple  then  thine  icy  flood. 


56  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Fair  fountain  !  thee  the  dog  star's  rage, 

At  sultry  noon  can  n'er  molest, 
The  wandering  flocks,  the  share-worn  herds, 

Delighted  here  in  coolness  rest, 
And  while  the  bard  enraptured  sings, 
The  spreaking  oak,  that  o'er  thee  springs, 
The  arched  rock,  the  rugged  steep, 
From  which  thy  babbling  waters  leap, 
What  nobler  stream  wide  earth  can  lave, 
Blandusian  wave,  Blandusian  wave  ! 


SONNET: 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  PETRARCH. 
"  La  vita  fugge,  e  non  s'arresta  un  'ora." 

Life  flits  away  without  a  moment's  rest, 

And  death  with  rapid  strides  comes  hastening  on ; 
The  past,  the  present,  rend  my  aching  breast, 

The  future  will,  when  they  shall  both  be  gone  : 
Memory  and  hope,  alike,  by  turns  perplex, 

And,  truly,  did  I  not  sometimes  forbear, 
And  cease,  with  anxious  fears,  my  soul  to  vex, 

Such  thoughts,  long  since,  had  pierced  it  through  with 
care. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  57 

I  look  before  me  —  and  my  aching  heart 

Sometimes  a  single  cheering  ray  descries, 
'Tis  vain  —  for  instant  on  some  other  part, 

Fierce  winds  to  whelm  my  wave-worn  bark  arise  ; 
And  when  the  port  is  gained,  and  Fortune  won, 

Wearied  and  wrecked,  each  ray  that  gilds  her  throne  is 
gone. 


FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  METASTASIO. 
"La  speme  de  malvagi." 

The  hope  of  the  wicked  — 
A  moment  shall  blast  it, 

When  the  breath  of  Jehovah 
In  wrath  hath  o'er  passed  it. 

Like  smoke,  which  the  winds  in  their  fury  are  lashing, 
Or  foam  on  the  ocean  when  tempests  are  dashing, 
It  was  —  it  is  not  —  all  its  glories  are  o'er, 
And  the  places  that  knew  it,  shall/ know  it  no  more. 

But  the  hope  of  the  just 

Is  established  forever, 
For  God  is  their  trust, 

And  that  trust  shall  fail  —  never. 

The  heavens  at  the  voice  of  His  thunder  may  shake, 
And  earth  at  the  flash  of  His  lightnings  may  quake, 
8 


58  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

But  their  hope  and  their  trust 
Shall  be  ever  the  same, 

Unfailing,  unchanging, 
Jehovah,  His  name. 


TO  THE  PENINSULA  OF  SIRMIO. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  CATULLUS. 
"Peninsularum,  Sirmio,  insularumque." 

FAIREST  of  all  Peninsulas, 

Eyelet  x  of  islands,  Sirmio  ! 
Of  all  the  wide  wave  bathes,  the  best, 

Where'er  its  varied  waters  flow  : 
So  glad,  so  joyful  my  return, 

So  fondly  I  revisit  thee, 
I  scarce  can  feel,  that  Thynia  left, 
That,  from  Bithynia's  valleys  reft, 
Thee,  once  again,  I  safely  see, 

Oh  !  feels  the  heart  a  happier  hour, 
Than  when,  its  every  sorrow  fled, 
Thrown  now  aside,  its  painful  load, 
Accomplished  now,  its  weary  road, 

1  Ocelle,    little-eye,  —  a   term    of  endearment.     So    Cicero ;   villulae    meae, 
ocelli  Italiae. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY. 


59 


Reached  now,  the  land  that  gave  it  birth, 

Its  native  home,  its  holy  hearth, 

It  rests  upon  its  own,  its  long,  long,  wished  for  bed  ? 
Oh  !  this,  for  toilsome  road  and  rough, 
And  labour  hard,  is  meed  enough, 

Hail,  then,  lovely  Sirmio  ! 

Smile  once  more,  upon  your  lord  ; 
Lydian  waves,  that  round  me  flow, 

Your  murmuring  welcome,  now  afford  : 
Every  smile  you  have,  my  home  ! 

Sport  it  now  ;  the  wanderer's  come. 


TO  GROSPHUS. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  HORACE. 
"  Otium  divos  rogat  in  patent!." 

WHEN  tempests  turn  the  day,  to  night, 
And  clouds  obscure  pale  Luna's  light, 
The  sailor,  'mid  -^Egean  seas, 
No  star  to  guide  him,  prays  for  ease. 
For  ease,  the  warring  Thracian  prays, 
And  Media's  quiver-bearing  race  — 
Ease,  that  no  gems,  nor  gold  can  buy, 
Nor  robes,  my  friend,  of  Tyrian  dye. 
For,  not  the  hoarded  wealth  of  kings, 
Nor  state,  that  titled  office  brings, 


60  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Can  drive  those  carking  cares  aloof, 
Those  vultures  of  the  mind, 
That  riot  unconfined, 
And  flit  unscared,  untamed,  around  the  vaulted  roof. 

How  happy  he,  though  small  his  hoard, 
Whose  plate  ancestral  decks  his  board, 
Whose  tranquil  sleep,  no  fears  molest, 
Nor  lawless  love,  deprives  of  rest ! 

Rash,  short-lived  beings,  that  we  are, 
Why  cast  we  still  our  schemes  afar  ? 
Why  haste,  from  clime  to  clime,  to  range  ? 
Himself,  did  exile,  ever  change  ? 
No  ;  care  will  climb  the  brazen  poop  ; 
Care  still  pursues  the  mounted  troop  ; 
Care ;  that  is  swifter  than  young  hind, 
Or  clouds,  that  scud  before  the  wind. 

Blest  then  to-day,  seek  not,  to  borrow, 
One  anxious  moment,  from  the  morrow ; 
But  soothe  each  grief,  with  gentle  mirth  ; 
Unmingled  bliss  dwells  not,  on  earth. 

Each  has  his  lot.     Achilles  died, 
'Mid  all  his  fame,  in  manhood's  pride, 
While  old  Tithonus  pined  away, 
Year  after  year,  in  dull  decay  ; 
And  I,  though  poor,  perhaps  may  see 
Long  years,  denied  to  wealth  and  thee  : 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  6l 

Thee,  purple-robed,  whose  heifers  low, 

Whose  well-trained  steeds  delighted  neigh, 
Whose  countless  flocks  securely  stray, 

Where'er  Sicilian  waters  flow  ; 

While,  for  my  share,  (so  fate  ordains,) 

This  little  farm  alone  remains. 

Enough  !  Since  with  it,  I  inherit 
Some  sparklings  of  the  Grecian  spirit ; 
A  mind  not  always  slighted  by  the  muse  — 
A  soul  that  spurns  the  mob,  and  virtue's  path  pursues. 


SONNET. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  TASSO. 
"  Donna,  crudel  fortuna  a  me  ben  vieta." 

FATE  binds  me  here  :  beloved  one,  farewell ; 
Yet  binds  not  all ;  the  fond  and  faithful  heart 
Bursts  all  restraint,  and  wheresoe'er  thou  art,     • 

Its  best  affections,  still,  delight  to  dwell. 

To  deem  thee  pensive,  now  ;  now,  light  of  heart, 
Now  on  the  wave,  and  now,  along  the  shore, 
Amid  earth's  stillness  deep,  or  ocean's  fitful  roar  ; 

Is  faithful  Fancy's  never-tiring  part. 


62  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

And  when,  the  circle  of  rejoicing  friends 

Greet  thee,  with  many  a  smile,  and  sportive  kiss  ; 
Half  pleased,  half  envious  of  that  lavished  bliss, 

One  jealous  pang,  swift  messenger,  she  sends  : 
Home  to  the  heart,  the  pained  affections  turn, 
And  mingled  grief  and  love,  the  throbbing  bosom,  burn. 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  A  COUNTRY  LIFE. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  HORACE. 
"  Beatus  ille  qui  procul  negotiis." 

How  blest  is  he,  who,  free  from  care, 
As  once,  'tis  said,  even  mortals  were, 
Unknown  to  brokers,  bonds,  or  bills, 
His  own  paternal  acres,  tills. 
No  midnight  storm  along  the  deep, 
Nor  brazen  trump,  to  break  his  sleep  ; 
Far  from  the  Forum's  pompous  prate, 
And  thresholds  of  the  lordly  great ; 
The  wanton  vine,  'tis  his,  to  wed, 
To  poplar  trim,  with  lofty  head  ; 
And,  pruning  off  each  worthless  shoot, 
Engraft  the  slip,  from  choicer  root. 
Sometimes,  where  yonder  vale  descends, 
His  lowing  herds,  at  ease,  he  tends ; 
Shears,  now,  his  sheep,  with  tottering  feet ; 
Now,  stores  the  hive's  delicious  sweet ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  63 

And  now,  when  autumn  smiling  round, 
Erects  his  head,  with  fruitage,  crowned, 
Plucks,  with  delight,  the  melting  pear, 
Or  purple  grape,  of  flavour  rare  ; 
What  thanks,  and  offerings  then  recall 
His  care,  who  gives,  and  guards  them  all  ! 

Sometimes,  where  streams  are  gliding  by, 
Stretched  on  the  grass,  he  loves  to  lie, 
Beneath  some  old  and  spreading  oak, 
Where  rooks  reside,  and  ravens  croak, 
While  crystal  fountains  murmur  round, 
And  lull  his  senses,  with  their  sound. 
But,  when  the  raging  winter  god 
Has  sent  his  snows,  and  storms,  abroad, 
He  scours  the  country,  round  and  round, 
To  rouse  the  boar,  with  horse  and  hound ; 
With  subtle  art,  his  traps  and  nets, 
To  catch  the  tender  thrush,  he  sets ; 
Lays  for  the  crane,  some  stouter  snare, 
Or  takes,  delicious  treat  !  the  hare. 
'Mid  sports  like  these,  unknown  to  ill, 
What  love,  can  cross  !  what  cares,  can  kill  ! 

But  happiest  then,  if,  while  he  roam, 
His  wife  and  children  dear,  at  home  — 
(A  modest  matron  she,  and  fair, 
Despite  alike  of  sun  and  air)  — 
The  swelling  udder,  duly  drain, 
And  close  the  sheltering  fold,  again  : 


64  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Pile  high,  with  seasoned  wood,  the  fire, 
To  warm  and  dry,  their  wearied  sire  ; 
Then,  filled  one  small,  but  generous  cup, 
The  unbought  banquet,  quick  serve  up. 

Such  fare  be  mine  !  I  ask  no  more  ; 
No  shell-fish,  from  the  Lucrine  shore ; 
No  turbot  rare,  nor,  driven  from  far, 
By  eastern  winds,  the  costly  char. 
Oh  !  not  the  fowl,  from  Afric  shore, 
Nor  grouse,  from  Asiatic  moor, 
Were  half  such  luxury,  to  me, 
As  olives,  plucked  from  mine  own  tree  ; 
A  dish  of  dock,  that  grows  in  fallows  j 
A  dainty  mess,  of  wholesome  mallows  ; 
A  joint,  on  high  and  holy  days, 
Of  roasted  lamb,  my  board  to  grace  ; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  rescued  kid, 
Which  ravening  wolf,  had  stolen  and  hid. 

'Mid  feasts  like  these,  to  sit,  and  see 

My  flocks  wind  homeward  o'er  the  lea  ; 

The  sober  ox,  returning  first, 

With  languid  neck,  and  plough  reversed  ; 

And  men  and  maids,  the  farm-house  swarm, 

Around  the  hearth-stone,  gathered  warm. 

"  What  life  so  blest  !"  cried  wealthy  B , 

cc  I'm  done  with  stocks.     A  farm  for  me  !" 
Cash,  loaned  at  five,  called  in  ;  he  went, 
And  —  put  it  out,  at  six  per  cent  ! 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  65 


HARMODIUS  AND  ARISTOGEITON. 

FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  CALLISTRATUS. 

Ev  /^vprov  H/\.aSi  TO  c,icpo$  <popr/tfGO. 

I'LL  wreathe  my  sword,  with  myrtle  ;  as  the  brave  Harmo- 
dius did, 

And  as  Aristogeiton,  his  avenging  weapon  hid, 
When  they  slew  the  haughty  tyrant,  and  regained  our  liberty, 
And  breaking  down  oppression,  made  the  men  of  Athens 
free. 

Thou  art  not,  loved  Harmodius,  thou  art  not,  surely  dead, 
But  to  some  secluded  sanctuary,  far  away  art  fled, 
With  the  swift-footed  Achilles,  unmolested  there  to  rest, 
And  to   rove,  with  Diomedes,  through  the  islands  of  the 
blest. 

Pll  wreathe  my  sword  with  myrtle  ;  as  Aristogeiton  did, 
And  as  the  brave  Harmodius,  his  avenging  weapon  hid, 
When  on  Minerva's  festival,  they  aimed  the  glorious  blow, 
And,   calling  on  fair  freedom,  laid   the  proud  Hipparchus 
low. 

Thy   fame,  beloved   Harmodius,  through  ages,   still  shall 

brighten, 

Nor  ever  shall  thy  glory  fade,  beloved  Aristogeiton, 
Because  your  country's  champions,  ye  nobly  dared  to  be, 
And  striking  down  the  tyrant,  made  the  men  of  Athens  free. 
9 


66  SONGS  BY  THfe  WAY. 


TO  FUSCUS  ARISTIUS. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  -HORACE. 
"  Integer  vitae,  scelerisque  purus." 

THE  man,  my  friend,  whose  hands  are  pure 
Needs  not  the  shaft  of  tawny  Moor  ; 
Nor,  armed  with  innocence  of  heart, 
Asks  he,  the  bow  or  venomed  dart. 
His  way  may  lie  o'er  sandy  plains, 
'Mid  hills,  where  desolation  reigns, 
By  fabled  stream,  or  haunted  grot, 
Secure  in  all,  he  needs  them  not. 

For  me,  as,  musing,  late  I  strayed 
In  yonder  Sabine  forest's  shade ; 
And,  casting  to  the  winds,  all  care, 
Thought,  but  of  Lalage  my  fair  ; 
A  wolf;  such  horrid  portent  roves 
Not  all  Apulia's  warlike  groves  ; 
Not  such,  fierce  Mauritania's  coast, 
Dry-nurse  of  monsters,  e'er  could  boast  ; 
Lone  as  I  was,  and  quite  unarmed, 
Took  flight  and  left  me  all  unharmed. 

Place  me  henceforth,  'mid  polar  fields, 
Where  earth  no  vegetation  yields  ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  67 

'Neath  cloud-wrapt  skies,  where  not  a  breeze 
Wafts  health  and  fragrance  through  the  trees  ; 
Or,  where  the  tropic's  ceaseless  blaze 
Blasts  all  that  basks  beneath  its  rays  ; 
I'll  fear  no  ill  ;  but  think  the  while, 
Of  Lalage's  bewitching  smile  ; 
Dear  to  my  heart,  she  still  shall  be, 
My  sweetly-speaking  Lalage. 


SONNET. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  PETRARCH. 
"  I'vo  piangendo  i  miei  passati  tempi." 

OH  !  I  must  ever  weep  the  years  I've  spent, 

Years,  whose  whole  business  and  delight  was  love, 
When,  not  an  effort  stirred  those  pinions,  lent 

To  spurn  the  ignoble  crowd,  and  soar  above. 
Thou,  who  my  errors  and  my  crimes  hast  known, 

Great  King  of  Heaven,  eternal  and  unseen, 
Aid  my  frail  spirit,  wandering  here  alone, 

And  cleanse  it,  graciously,  from  every  sin. 
Grant  that  my  life,  'mid  storm  and  battle,  spent, 

In  peaceful  haven,  may  at  last  repose  ; 
If  this  be  vain,  whate'er  its  brief  extent, 

Vouchsafe  at  least  no  ignominious  close  : 
And  oh  !   in  death,  do  Thou,  my  portion,  be, 
For,  Lord,  Thou  knowest,  my  hopes  are  all  in  Thee, 


68  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


TO  THE  SPRING. 

AN  IDYL. 
FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  MELEAGER. 


SEE,  waked  by  stormy  Winter's  parting  wing, 
Smiling,  'mid  flowers,  comes  on  the  purple  Spring  ; 
While  verdant  herbage  crowns  the  dusky  earth, 
And  new-leaved  plants  are  joying,  in  their  birth  ; 
While  fertilizing  dews  refresh  the  ground  ; 
And  early  roses  bloom  and  blush,  around. 
Glad,  o'er  the  hills,  the  shepherd's  pipe  we  hear, 
Where  snow-white  flocks,  in  frolic  mirth,  career  : 
Cheerly,  his  ocean-path,  the  seaman  hails, 
While  favouring  zephyrs  fill  his  swelling  sails  : 
The  Bacchants  now,  with  clustering  ivy,  crowned, 
Invoke  the  genial  god,  with  jocund  sound  : 
Their  cells  of  purest  wax,  prepared  with  skill, 
The  careful  bees,  with  dripping  nectar,  fill  : 
Now,  wake  the  feathered  tribes,  their  tuneful  notes  ; 
The  queen-like  swan,  as  down  the  stream  she  floats, 
The  halcyon,  hunter  of  old  Ocean's  coves, 
The  swallow,  twittering  from  the  roof,  he  loves, 
And  Philomel,  enchantress  of  the  groves. 
And  say,  while  leaves,  and  buds,  and  flowers  rejoice, 
And  teeming  earth  lifts  up  her  glorious  voice  ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  69 

While  shepherds  warble  their  delighted  lay, 
And  well-fleeced  flocks  their  sportive  gambols,  play  ; 
While  seaman  shout,  and  Bacchants,  joyous,  throng, 
And  bees,  their  labour  ply,  and  birds,  their  song : 
Shall  I,  no  strain,  to  earth's  glad  chorus,  bring  ? 
Shame  to  the  Son  of  Song,  that  hails  not  thee,  O  Spring  ! 


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No  —  I  will  not  deem  thee  dead,  my  love,  but  parted  far 

away, 
Through  fairer  scenes  than  earth  can  yield,  for  evermore  to 

stray  ; 

To  dwell  where  ceaseless  pleasures  reign,  in  undecaying  rest, 
Amid  the  quiet  shades  of  some  far  island  of  the  blest. 

And  there,  I  ween,  thy  little  feet,  from  every  ill  removed, 
In  frolic  mirth  now  wander,  as  in  infancy  they  loved  ; 
And  still  thy  little  heart  exults  amid  Elysian  bowers, 
And  still  thy  little  fingers  pluck  the  sweetest,  fairest  flowers. 

Oh  !  winter    comes   not    there,   to    chill,  with    short  and 

cheerless  day  ; 
Nor  summer  suns  are  there,  to  scorch,  with  fierce  and  sultry 

ray; 


70  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Nor  hunger  there,  nor  thirst,  is  known,  to  mar  thine  hours 

of  ease  ; 
Nor,  raging  in  his  thousand  shapes,  the  tyrant,  fell  Disease. 

And  shall  I,  though  thou'rt  torn  from  me,  my  precious  one, 

repine  ? 
Alas  !  how  poor  life's  best  estate  appears,  compared  with 

thine  — 
With  thine,  who,  far  removed  from  all  that  dims  its  darkened 

ray, 
Dwellest  amid  the  splendours  pure  of  heaven's  unclouded  ray. 


WHY  WISH  FOR  LIFE  ? 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  METASTASIO. 
"  Perche  bramar  la  vita." 

WHY  wish  for  life  ?  has  this  vain  world, 

One  source  of  pure  delight, 
Whose  every  fortune  has  its  pang, 

And  every  age,  its  blight  ? 

Trembling,  in  childhood,  at  a  look, 
In  youth,  with  love's  vain  fears, 

Man  walks  awhile,  the  sport  of  fate, 
Then  sinks,  oppressed  with  years. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  Jl 

'Tis  now  the  strife  to  win,  that  racks 

His  inmost  soul  with  pain ; 
And  now,  far  worse,  the  fear  to  lose 

What  cost  so  much  to  gain. 

Thrones  have  their  thorns ;  eternal  war 

Must  gain  them,  and  must  guard ; 
And  envy,  still,  and  scorn  are  found, 

Fair  virtue's  best  reward. 

Vain  world  !  whose  dreams  and  shadows  mock, 

Whose  follies  cheat  the  eye, 
Till  age,  the  base  delusion,  shows, 

Just  time  enough  —  to  die. 


LOVE  AND  DEATH. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  ALCIATUS. 
"  Errabat  socio  Mors  juncta  Cupidine." 

LOVE  and  death,  odd  cronies  they, 
Met  once,  on  a  summer's  day : 
Death,  his  wonted  weapons  bearing, 
Little  love,  his  quiver  wearing  ; 
This  to  wound,  and  that  to  slay, 
Hand  in  hand,  they  took  their  way. 


72  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Night  came  on.     The  self-same  shed 
Furnished  both  with  board  and  bed; 
While,  beneath  a  wisp  of  hay, 
Heads  and  points,  their  arrows  lay. 
Ere  the  morning's  faintest  dawn, 
Each  had  girt  his  armour  on  : 
But  with  too  much  haste  arranged, 
Luckless  chance  !  their  darts  were  changed. 

Little  space  our  heroes  ran, 

Ere  their  archery  began. 

Love,  a  whizzing  shaft,  let  fly 

At  a  youth,  with  beaming  eye  : 

The  aim  was  true ;  one  shriek  he  gave, 

And  sunk,  into  an  early  grave. 

Death  shot  next ;  he  pierced  the  core 

Of  a  dotard,  past  threescore  : 

The  cankered  carle,  his  crutch  threw  by, 

A  lover  now,  with  amorous  eye. 

"  Ho  !"  cried  young  Love,  "  here's  some  mistake 

These  darts  of  mine,  sad  havoc  make." 

"  And  mine,"  said  Death,  "  instead  of  killing, 

Serve  but  to  set  these  bald-heads  billing." 

Reader,  oft  will  wanton  age 

Bring  to  mind,  our  sportive  page  j 

Oh!   that  youth's  untimely  fall, 

Its  sadder  strain,  should  e'er  recall  ! 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  73 


TO  DELIUS. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  HORACE. 

memento  rebus  in  arduis. 


THOUGH  adversity  should  harm  thee, 

Still  thy  equal  mind  maintain  ; 
Though  prosperity  should  charm  thee, 

Be  not  insolently  vain  : 
For  whether  clogged  with  sadness,  life's  brief  moments  pass 

us  by, 

Or  winged  with  wine  and  gladness,  still,  my  Delius,  we  must 
die. 

Where  the  pine  and  poplar  blending, 

Fling  their  hospitable  shade, 
And  the  limpid  stream  descending, 

Gently  murmurs  through  the  glade, 
Bring  the  wine,  and  perfume  rare,  with  the  rose's  short- 

lived flower, 
While  the  fatal  sisters  spare,  and  life  lends  a  summer  hour. 

For  soon  the  world  resigning 

Thou  shalt  leave  thy  house  and  lands, 
And  the  well-piled  treasures  shining, 

To  thy  heir's  delighted  hands  : 
Nor  shall  fields,  dear  bought,  avail  thee,  lashed  by  Tiber's 

yellow  wave, 

Nor  thy  noble  birth  preserve  thee,  from  the  dark  and  narrow 
grave. 

10 


74  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Oh  !  think  not  then  'twill  matter  thee, 

How  low  soe'er  thy  lot ; 
Nor  deem  that  death  would  flatter  thee, 

Though  royally  begot  ! 

Whether  palace,  rich  and  rare,  should  receive  thy  every  breath, 
Or  it  flit  in  open  air  ;  it  is  all  the  same  to  Death. 

To  his  rule  we  all  are  destined 

Whether  soon  or  late  our  turn  : 
Nor  may  its  lot  be  questioned  — 

That  inexorable  urn  ; 

Nor  the  boat  that  wafts  us  over,  to  that  undiscovered  shore, 
From  whose  eternal  exile,  we  return  again  no  more.1 


1819  — 1825. 

11  Since,  where  thou  art,  I  may  not  dwell, 
'Twill  soothe  to  be,  where  thou  hast  been." 

FARE  thee  well,  dearest,  peace  be  thine, 

Though  my  lone  day  be  dark,  with  sorrow, 

May  each  of  thine,  more  brightly  shine, 
And  happier  still,  thy  every  morrow. 

Yes  —  round  thy  heart,  may  joy  and  peace, 
Contentment's  garland,  greenly  wreathe, 

Its  buds  of  peace,  each  day,  increase, 

And  every  floweret,  sweeter  breathe. 

1  These  poems,  in  the  order  in  which  they  are  here  (with  a  few  others), 
appeared  in  the  first  edition  of  "  Songs  by  the  Way  "  published  in  New  York, 
by  E.  Bliss  and  E.  White,  128  Broadway,  in  A.  D.  1824. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  75 

Farewell  —  thou  goest  to  spread  delight, 

Where'er  thy  peaceful  presence  beams  ; 
And  tho'  the  light,  that  blessed  my  sight 

With  warmest  ray,  no  longer  gleams  ; 
Yet,  fare  thee  well ;  in  joy  and  woe, 

The  heart,  that  long  has  loved  thee  dearly, 
No  change  can  know,  where'er  it  go, 

But  still  must  dote  on  thee,  sincerely. 

And,  when  no  more,  that  soft  blue  eye, 

Light  of  my  way,  life's  beacon-star, 
With  cheering  rays,  around  me  plays, 

Nor  throws  its  moonlight  smile,  afar  ; 
Oh,  then,  each  loved  and  lonely  scene, 

I'll  haunt,  where  thou  wert  wont  to.  dwell ; 
And  sweetly  dream,  and  fondly  deem  ; 

I  hear  thee  say,  "Farewell, —  Farewell  !" 
Sept.  4,  1819. 


"  A  glove,  a  shoe-tie,  or  a  flower  let  fall, 
What  tho'  the  least  —  Love  consecrates  them  all." 

AND  canst  thou  ask  me,  why  this  rose 

Is  held,  so  precious,  by  my  heart  ? 
And  knowest  thou  not,  that  Love  bestows 
On  slightest  gifts,  the  faded  flower, 
The  severed  lock,  a  mystic  power, 
Can  ne'er  depart  ? 


76  SONGS    BY    THE    WAY. 

And  canst  thou  ask  me,  what  the  charm, 

That  makes  this  withered  rose,  so  dear  ? 
And  why,  preserved  from  hurt  or  harm, 

While  other  flowers  have  fallen,  unwept, 
Like  sainted  relic,  this  is  kept, 
Year  after  year  ? 

And  canst  thou  ask  me,  what  the  worth, 

Which  can  attach  to  thing  like  this  ? 
And  why,  what  seems  like  merest  earth, 
What  finds  no  grace,  in  eye  of  thine, 
Should  be  so  doted  on,  by  mine, 
In  secret  bliss  ? 

Then  thou  hast  never  felt  the  power, 

Of  ceaseless,  solitary  love  ; 
Hast  never  known,  how  every  hour, 
Spent  with  that  one  beloved  alone, 
Will  still  be  prized,  when  years  have  flown, 
All  hours,  above. 

Aye  prized  ;  though  that  were  idle  word, 

To  speak  the  fond  and  fixed  delight, 
Which  hangs  on  each  soft  accent  heard, 
Each  look  dwelt  on,  as  if  the  last, 
Each  well  remembered  moment,  passed, 
In  her  loved  sight. 

Then  hast  thou  never  known,  what  charm, 

Love  to  least  relic,  can  impart  ; 
Nor  how,  like  vine  that's  sheltered  warm, 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  JJ 

It  spreads  its  tendrils  more  and  more, 
And  twines  still  closer,  than  before, 
Round  the  fond  heart. 

Years  may  roll  on.     Stern  fate  may  blight 

The  loveliest  visions  of  the  heart  ; 
Then,  as  such  relic  meets  the  sight, 

Fond  memory,  on  the  past,  will  dwell, 
And  hope,  of  happier  hours,  will  tell, 
Hours,  ne'er  to  part. 

Oh  !  not  the  flower  in  blooming  pride, 
At  times  like  this,  will  most  delight : 
Gazed  on,  by  many  an  eye  beside, 

Admired  by  some,  and  praised  by  all, 
Its  common  charms,  but  cheaply  fall, 
On  Love's  sad  sight. 

Then,  emblem  of  his  own  sad  lot, 

The  heart  that  loves,  and  loves  unblessed, 
Will  prize  the  flower  by  all  forgot, 
Wrest  it  from  elemental  strife, 
And  press  it,  like  a  thing  of  life, 
To  his  own  breast : 

And  keep  it  there  ;  that  faded  rose, 

Shut  from  the  cold,  and  common  world  ; 
Till  cherished  long,  at  last  it  grows, 
Part  of  his  life,  his  fondest  care, 
Like  magic  word,  which  none  may  hear, 
None,  e'er  hath  heard. 


7$  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

But  oh  !  if  once,  in  happier  hours, 

When  life  was  young,  and  earth  seemed  heaven, 
When  every  step  was  stepped  on  flowers, 
And  all,  to  his  delighted  eyes, 
Seemed  fair,  as  primal  Paradise, 
That  flower  was  given, 

By  her,  who  shed  on  all  this  scene, 
Its  light,  and  life,  and  loveliness  ; 
Whose  eye,  his  star  of  hope,  had  been, 

Her  smile,  the  mild  and  mellowed  ray, 
That  cheered  his  heart,  and  lit  his  way 
To  happiness  : 

Think  then,  how  round  his  heart  of  hearts, 

Relic  of  love,  that  flower  would  twine; 
Nor,  dearest,  ask,  tho'  time  departs, 

Though  wavelike,  year  is  rolled  on  year, 
Why  cherished  still,  and  still,  more  dear, 
This  rose  of  thine. 
1823. 


"To  say  —  I've  thought  of  thee." 

And  is  it  so  ?  And  hast  thou  thought, 

Beloved  one,  of  me  — 
Deep,  in  my  bosom's  inmost  cells, 

That  thought  shall  treasured  be : 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  79 

And  often,  to  that  secret  haunt, 

Shall  memory  repair, 
To  watch,  with  more  than  miser's  joy, 

The  wealth,  that's  buried  there. 

At  midnight,  shall  that  blessed  thought, 

Compose  my  throbbing  heart, 
And  bid  the  spectre-cares,  that  haunt 

That  holy  hour,  depart  ; 
And  when  the  morn,  rejoicing,  brings 

Its  glad  and  golden  ray, 
That  recollected  thought  shall  lend, 

New  lustre,  to  the  day. 

Yes,  Mary  !  deep  within  my  breast, 

It  shall  forever  lie : 
Like  sacred  relic,  unprofaned, 

By  cold,  or  common,  eye : 
And  often,  shall  my  pilgrim  thoughts, 

Frequent  that  hallowed  shrine, 
For  hallowed,  must  I  deem  the  spot, 

That  harbours  aught  of  thine. 

Thither,  shall  fond  affection,  oft, 

Her  choicest  offerings  bring  ; 
And  ardent  Hope,  oft  linger  there, 

To  plume  her  weary  wing  ; 
And  thence,  her  strains  be  wafted,  oft, 

The  syren  Memory  ; 
And  this,  the  sweetest  of  them  all, 

"To  say,  I've  thought  of  thee." 
1824. 


8o  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

\ 

1825-1828. 

TO . 

WHEN  compelled,  to  rest  or  rove, 
Far  away,  from  her  I  love, 
What  shall  clear  the  clouded  eye  ? 
The  mellow  light  of  memory  ! 
Oh  !  in  such  an  hour,  how  dear, 
Scenes  of  other  days,  appear, 
Beaming,  ever  fair  and  bright, 
In  magic  memory's  golden  light. 

When  the  tones,  I  love  to  hear, 
Fall  not,  on  the  charmed  ear, 
What,  their  music  shall  supply  ? 
The  gentle  voice  of  memory  ! 
Oh,  in  moments,  such  as  these, 
How  each  treasured  tone  will  please 
Not  a  pulse,  that  is  not  stirred, 
By  each  dear  remembered  word. 

As  along  the  purpling  west, 
When  the  sun  has  sunk  to  rest, 
Many  a  lengthening  line  of  light 
Lingers  still,  and  charms  the  sight : 
So  from  thee,  where'er  I  roam, 
Beaming  memories  shall  come, 
Lighting,  with  their  blessed  rays, 
To  brighter  hopes,  of  better  days. 
1825. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  8l 


WHAT  IS  THAT,  MOTHER  ? 

WHAT  is  that,  Mother  ? 

The  lark,  my  child  ! 

The  morn  has  but  just  looked  out,  and  smiled ; 
When  he  starts,  from  his  humble,  grassy  nest, 
And  is  up  and  away,  with  the  dew  on  his  breast, 
And  a  hymn  in  his  heart,  to  yon  pure,  bright  sphere, 
To  warble  it  out,  in  his  Maker's  ear  : 

Ever  my  child,  be  thy  morn's  first  lays, 
Tuned,  like  the  lark's,  to  thy  Maker's  praise. 

What  is  that,  Mother  ? 

The  dove,  my  son  ! 

And  that  low  sweet  voice,  like  a  widow's  moan, 
Is  flowing  out,  from  her  gentle  breast, 
Constant  and  pure,  by  that  lonely  nest, 
As  the  wave  is  poured  from  some  crystal  urn, 
For  her  distant  dear  one's  quick  return  : 
Ever,  my  son,  be  thou,  like  the  dove, 
In  friendship  as  faithful,  as  constant  in  love. 

What  is  that,  Mother  ? 

The  eagle,  boy  ! 

Proudly  careering  his  course  of  joy, 
Firm,  on  his  own  mountain  vigour,  relying, 
Breasting  the  dark  storm,  the  red  bolt  defying, 
11 


82  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

His  wing  on  the  wind,  and  his  eye  on  the  sun, 
He  swerves  not  a  hair,  but  bears  onward,  right  on  : 
Boy,  may  the  eagle's  flight  ever  be  thine, 
Onward,  and  upward,  and  true  to  the  line. 

What  is  that,  Mother  ? 

The  swan,  my  love  ! 

He  is  floating  down,  from  his  native  grove ; 
No  loved  one,  now,  no  nestling,  nigh, 
He  is  floating  down,  by  himself,  to  die ; 
Death  darkens  his  eye,  and  unplumes  his  wings, 
Yet  the  sweetest  song,  is  the  last,  he  sings. 

Live  so,  my  love,  that  when  death  shall  come, 
Swanlike  and  sweet,  it  may  waft  thee  home  ! 
1825. 


LINES  ON  A  SEAL. 

The  device,  a  leaf. 
The  motto,  "Je  ne  change,  qu'en  mourant." 

IN  bower  and  garden,  rich  and  rare, 

There's  many  a  cherished  flower, 
Whose  beauty  fades,  whose  fragrance  flits, 

Within  the  flitting  hour. 
Not  so  the  simple  forest  leaf, 

Unprized,  unnoted  lying, 
The  same,  thro'  all  its  little  life, 

It  changes,  but  in  dying. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  83 

Be  such,  and  only  such,  my  friend, 

Once  mine,  and  mine  for  ever : 
And  here's  a  hand,  to  clasp  in  thine, 

That  shall  desert  thee,  never. 
And  thou,  be  such,  my  gentle  love, 

Time,  chance,  the  world,  defying  ; 
And  take,  'tis  all  I  have,  a  heart, 

That  changes,  but  in  dying. 
1825. 


FAREWELL. 

FAREWELL  !  a  little  magic  word, 

Which  hath  been,  and  which  must  be,  heard, 

So  long  as  change  and  chance  shall  be 

Entwined,  with  human  destiny  : 

The  varied  feelings,  who  can  tell, 

That  mingle  in  that  word,  Farewell  ! 

It  breathes  of  joys  ;  but  they  are  gone  ; 
Of  peace  and  love,  forever  flown  ; 
Of  hopes,  so  faint,  they  seem  but  fears  ; 
Of  griefs,  that  lie,  too  deep,  for  tears  ; 
Of  friends,  of  loved  ones,  forced  to  part, 
Hand  torn  from  hand,  and  heart,  from  heart. 

It  breathes  of  joys,  that  shall  again, 
With  peace  and  love,  resume  their  reign  j 


84  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Of  hopes,  beneath  whose  fervent  ray, 
Each  frost-work  grief  shall  melt  away, 
Of  loved  ones,  met,  no  more  to  part, 
Hand  clasped  in  hand,  and  heart,  to  heart. 

Farewell  !  there's  not  a  thought  of  mine, 
That  does  not  turn  to  thee,  and  thine  ; 
There's  not  a  wish,  a  hope,  a  prayer, 
But  thine,  and  thou,  art  whispered  there, 
The  hopes,  the  fears,  oh  who  can  tell, 
That  mingle,  in  that  word,  Farewell  ! 


WILD  BIRDS. 

WILD  birds,  wild  birds  ;  ye  rejoice  mine  eye, 
For  ye  tell,  that  the  rose-wreathed  Spring  is  nigh 
And  your  warblings  fall,  on  my  charmed  ear, 
Like  the  wafted  notes,  of  some  happier  sphere, 
Where  all,  beneath,  around,  above, 
Is  breathing  of  peace,  and  joy,  and  love. 

Wild  birds  !  ye  come  in  the  year's  young  prime, 
That  "  greenest  spot,"  on  the  waste  of  time, 
And  when,  in  the  bloom  of  our  summer  bowers, 
Ye  have  sported  away,  the  sunny  hours  ; 
It  is  but  to  lift  the  light  wing,  and  away, 
To  a  milder  clime,  and  a  brighter  day. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  85 

So  from  the  clouds  of  earth,  and  time, 

Be  it  ours,  to  pass  to  that  better  clime, 

Where  night  never  gathers,  and  storms  never  blight, 

For  God,  and  the  Lamb,  are  its  joy  and  light. 

Who,  from  that  bosom  of  boundless  bliss, 

Would  return,  wild  birds  !  to  a  world  like  this  ? 


DIRGE. 

To  the  beloved  memory  of  my  friend  and  Brother, 
the  Rev.  Cornelius  R.  Duffie. 

Thou  art  gone  from  us,  my  brother  ;  there  is  dust  upon  thy 

brow, 
And  coldness,  in  that  kindly  heart,  which  ne'er  was  cold, 

till  now  ; 
And  sweet  and  undisturbed,  thy  sleep,  beneath  that  chancel 

stone, 
Where  pious  hands,  thy  couch,  have  spread  ;  and  thou  art 

left  alone. 

Thou  art  taken  from  us,  brother ;  all  thy  cares,  and  labours, 

done, 
When,  to  our  short-reaching  vision,  they  had  seemed,  but 

just  begun  ; 
And  long  before  its  noon  was  reached,  thy  heaven-enkindled 

ray, 
Was  lost  as  stars,  by  sunlight  fade,  in  cloudless,  endless  day. 


86  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Thou  art  torn  from  us,  my  brother ;  and  our  hearts  are 
bleeding  still, 

Yet,  taught  by  thee,  in  silence,  bow  to  Heaven's  all-right- 
eous will, 

And  bless  the  grace,  which,  to  thy  life,  such  heavenly  ra- 
diance, gave, 

To  cheer  us,  while  on  earth  we  walk,  and  light  us  through 
the  grave. 

Thou  art  gone  before  us,  brother;  yet  we  have  no  tears  to 

shed, 
For  we  know,  that  thou  art  numbered,  with  the  blessed,  holy 

dead  ; 

And  in  that  "continuing  city,"  to  which  we  may  never  come, 
Hast  found,  through  faith  in  Christ  our  Lord,  a  welcome 

and  a  home  ! 
1827. 


EARLY  PIETY. 

"The  first  fruits  —  shah  thou  give  Him." 

YOUNG  and  happy,  while  thou  art, 

Not  a  furrow,  on  thy  brow, 
Not  a  sorrow,  in  thy  heart, 

Seek  the  Lord,  thy  Maker,  now  ! 
In  its  freshness,  bring  the  flower, 

While  the  dew,  upon  it,  lies  ; 
In  the  cool  and  cloudless  hour, 

Of  the  morning  sacrifice. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  87 

Life  will  have  its  evil  years  ; 

When  its  skies  are  overcast, 
All  the  present,  thronged  with  fears, 

And,  with  vain  regrets,  the  past ; 
Let  him  tremble,  who,  his  heart 

In  an  hour  like  this,  would  bring, 
Lest  Jehovah  say, —  "depart  ! 

'Tis  a  worn,  and  worthless  thing." 

As  the  first  fruits  of  the  year 

Have  been  chosen  of  the  Lord, 
So  the  first  fruits  of  the  heart, 

On  His  altar,  should  be  poured  : 
Thus,  the  blessing,  from  above 

On  life's  harvest,  shall  be  given  ; 
Sown  in  tears,  perhaps  on  earth, 

Reaped,  in  joyfulness,  in  Heaven  ! 
Sept.  1827. 


THE  TWO  ADVENTS. 

He  came  not,  with  His  heavenly  crown,  His  sceptre  clad 

with  power, 

His  coming,  was  in  feebleness,  the  infant  of  an  hour ; 
An  humble  manger  cradled,  first,  the  Virgin's  holy  birth, 
And  lowing  herds  companioned  there,  the  Lord  of  heaven 

and  earth. 


00  .  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

He  came  not,  in  His  robe  of  wrath,  with  arm  outstretched 

to  slay; 

But,  on  the  darkling  paths  of  earth,  to  pour  celestial  day, 
To  guide  in  peace,  the  wandering  feet ;  the  broken  heart, 

to  bind  ; 
And  bear,  upon  the  painful  cross,  the  sins  of  human  kind. 

And  Thou  hast  borne  them,  Saviour  meek !  and  therefore, 

unto  Thee, 

In  humbleness,  and  gratitude,  our  hearts  shall  offered  be  ; 
And  greenly,  as  the  festal  bough,  that,  on  Thy  altar,  lies, 
Our  souls,  our  bodies,  all  be  Thine,  a  living  sacrifice  ! 

1  Yet  once  again,  Thy  sign  shall  be,  upon  the  heavens,  dis- 

played, 

And  earth,  and  its  inhabitants,  be  terribly  afraid, 
For,  not  in  weakness,  clad,  Thou  com'st,  our  woes,  our 

sins,  to  bear, 
But  girt  with  all  Thy  Father's  might,  His  vengeance  to 

declare. 

The  terrors  of  that  awful  day,  Oh  !  who  shall  understand  ? 

Or,  who  abide,  when  Thou  in  wrath,  shalt  lift  Thy  holy 

hand  ? 
The  earth  shall  quake,  the  sea  shall  roar,  the  sun  in  heaven 

grow  pale, 
But  Thou  hast  sworn,  and  wilt  not  change,  Thy  faithful 

shall  not  fail  ! 

1  Inserted  among  the  hymns  in  the  present  Hymnal. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  09 

Then  grant  us,  Saviour  !   so  to  pass  our  time,  in  trembling, 

here, 
That  when,  upon  the  clouds  of  heaven,  Thy  glory   shall 

appear, 

Uplifting  high  our  joyful  heads,  in  triumph,  we  may  rise, 
And  enter,  with  Thine  angel  train,  Thy  temple,  in  the  skies  ! 

Dec.  1827. 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS. 

THERE  was  a  voice  of  wailing 

In  Bethany,  that  day  ; 
And  darkly  on  that  mournful  home, 

The  cloud  of  sorrow  lay  : 
And  deeply  was  the  fount  of  grief 

In  woman's  bosom  stirred  ; 
And  thickly  fell  its  bitter  drops, 

In  each  low-murmured  word. 

For  never,  from  that  blessed  source, 

Of  perfectness  above, 
Was  shed  on  earth,  a  purer  joy, 

Than  in  a  sister's  love ; 
And  never  pours  the  bursting  heart, 

A  deeper,  darker  flow, 
Than,  o'er  a  brother's  wasted  form, 

A  sister's  sacred  woe. 
12 


90  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

There  was  a  voice  of  joyfulness, 

In  Bethany,  that  day, 
And  brightly,  on  that  happy  home, 

The  sun  of  gladness  lay  ; 
And  deeply  was  the  fount  of  joy 

In  woman's  bosom,  stirred, 
And  fervent  rose  its  grateful  praise, 

In  each  exulting  word. 

For  purer,  fuller,  holier  stream, 

Than,  in  a  sister's  love, 
Flowed  never,  from  that  blessed  fount, 

Of  perfectness,  above  ; 
And  deeper,  warmer,  gushing  tears, 

On  earth,  were  never  shed, 
Than  fell,  that  day,  upon  his  neck, 

The  rescued  from  the  dead. 

Oh,  ever  thus,  on  those  who  love, 

And  humbly  serve,  the  Lord, 
His  blessings,  and  His  chastisements, 

In  mingled  stream,  are  poured  : 
His  chastisements,  to  bring  to  earth, 

Each  thought  and  purpose  high  ; 
His  blessings,  to  lift  up  our  hearts, 

To  Him,  above  the  sky. 

Then  who,  whate'er  betide,  will  doubt, 

That  all-disposing  arm, 
Which  guides  our  feet  to  every  good, 

And  guards,  from  every  harm  ? 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  9! 

Since  sorrow,  like  that  darkest  hour, 

That  just  precedes  the  day, 
Is  only  sent,  to  fit  our  hearts, 

For  joy's  unclouded  ray. 
1828. 


LINES  ON  A  SEAL. 

The  device. —  A  Sunflower. 
The  motto  —  "  Je  vous  suis,  partout." 

I  FOLLOW  thee,  always, 

By  night,  and  by  day  ; 
Tho*  rude,  be  the  weather, 

Arid  rugged,  the  way  ; 
Thro'  field,  and  thro'  forest, 

My  heart  is  with  thee  ; 
Nor  mountain,  nor  fountain 

Can  keep  thee,  from  me. 

The  sunflower  thus, 

To  her  bright  idol,  turns, 
But  turns  to  him  only, 

While  brightly  he  burns  ; 
And  the  shadow,  that  follows, 

All  day  in  the  sun, 
Will  linger,  no  longer, 

When  daylight  is  gone. 


92  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

The  clouds  may  come  o'er  thee, 

In  sorrow's  dark  hour, 
But  my  spirit  unshrinking, 

Above  them  shall  tower ; 
On  wings,  as  of  eagles, 

Exultingly  rise, 
And  play,  in  the  ray, 

Of  thy  love-speaking  eyes. 

And  tho'  grief  should  encompass  thee 

Round,  like  the  night, 
Still,  my  love  shall  be  with  thee, 

Thy  joy  and  thy  light ; 
Nor  leave  thee,  thou  dear  one, 

Till,  lost  in  the  gloom, 
Of  that  blackness  of  darkness, 

Which  broods  o'er  the  tomb. 
1828. 


"THE  DEAD  IN  CHRIST." 

LIFT  not  thou  the  wailing  voice  ; 

Weep  not,  'tis  a  Christian  dieth  ; 
Up,  where  blessed  saints  rejoice, 

Ransomed  now,  the  spirit  flieth  ; 

High  in  heaven's  own  light,  she  dwelleth, 

Full,  the  song  of  triumph  swelleth  ; 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  93 

Freed  from  earth,  and  earthly  failing, 
Lift  for  her,  no  voice  of  wailing. 

Pour  not  thou,  the  bitter  tear  ; 

Heaven,  its  book  of  comfort,  opeth  ; 

Bids  thee  sorrow  not,  nor  fear, 
But  as  one,  who  always  hopeth  : 
Humbly,  here,  in  faith  relying, 
Peacefully,  in  Jesus  dying, 
Heavenly  joy,  her  eye  is  flushing  : 
Why  should  thine,  with  tears,  be  gushing  ? 

They,  who  die  in  Christ,  are  blest ; 

Ours,  then,  be  no  thought  of  grieving  ; 
Sweetly,  with  their  God,  they  rest, 
All  their  toils,  and  troubles,  leaving  : 
So,  be  ours,  the  faith  that  saveth, 
Hope,  that  every  trial,  braveth, 
Love,  that  to  the  end  endureth, 
And,  through  Christ,  the  crown  secureth. 
1830. 


TO  ONE  "  BROKEN  IN  HEART." 

BROKEN-HEARTED,  weep  no  more  ! 

Hear  what  comfort,  He  hath  spoken, 
Smoking  flax,  who  ne'er  hath  quenched, 

Bruised  reed,  who  ne'er  hath  broken, — 


94  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

"  Ye  who  wander  here  below, 

"  Heavy  laden,  as  you  go, 

"  Come,  with  grief,  with  sin,  oppressed, 

"  Come  to  me,  and  be  at  rest." 

Lamb  of  Jesu's  blood-bought  flock, 

Brought  again,  from  sin  and  straying, 
Hear  the  Shepherd's  gentle  voice, — 
'Tis  a  true  and  faithful  saying  ; — 
"  Greater  love,  how  can  there  be, 
"  Than  to  yield  up  life,  for  thee  ? 
"  Bought  with  pang,  and  tear,  and  sigh, 
"  Turn  and  live  !  why  will  ye  die  ?" 

Broken-hearted,  weep  no  more  ! 
Far,  from  consolation,  flying : 
He,  who  calls,  hath  felt  thy  wound, 
Seen  thy  weeping,  heard  thy  sighing  ; 
"  Bring  thy  broken  heart,  to  me, 
"  Welcome  offering,  it  shall  be, 
"  Streaming  tears,  and  bursting  sighs  ; 
"  Mine  accepted  sacrifice  !" 


TO  A  DEAR  ONE  IN  DEEP  SORROW. 

DOVE,  .whom  the  Lord  hath  wounded, 

Return  to  him,  and  live  ; 
For  He,  alone,  who  aimed  the  shaft, 

The  remedy,  can  give. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  95 

Dove,  whom  the  Lord  hath  wounded, 

The  bolt  was  sped  in  love  ; 
To  win  thee,  from  earth's  fleeting  scenes, 

To  better  things,  above. 

Dove,  whom  the  Lord  hath  wounded, 

He  bares  for  thee,  His  breast, 
And  bids  thee  enter  in,  and  be, 

For  evermore,  at  rest. 

Dove,  whom  the  Lord  hath  wounded, 

Yet  waiteth  to  revive, 
Return  to  Him  ! — He  wounds  and  heals, 

He  kills,  and  makes  alive. 

Dove,  whom  the  Lord  hath  wounded, 

Break  through  all  dull  delay: 
His  strength  will  bear  thy  pinions  up, 

His  goodness,  guide  thy  way. 

Dove,  whom  the  Lord  hath  wounded, 
Though  soiled,  with  sorrows,  here, 

With  silver  wings,  and  plumes  of  gold, 
In  heaven,  thou  shalt  appear. 

Dove,  whom  the  Lord  hath  wounded, 

No  more,  let  earth  delay, 
But  onward,  upward,  be  our  flight, 

To  realms,  of  cloudless  day  ! 


96  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


A  CHERUB. 

"Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits,  sent  forth  to  minister  to  them  that  shall 
be  heirs  of  salvation  ?" 

BEAUTIFUL  thing,  with  thine  eye  of  light, 
And  thy  brow,  of  cloudless  beauty  bright, 
Gazing  for  aye,  on  the  sapphire  throne, 
Of  Him,  who  dwelleth  in  light,  alone ; 
Art  thou  hasting  now,  on  that  golden  wing,1 
With  the  burning  seraph  choir,  to  sing  ? 
Or  stooping  to  earth,  in  thy  gentleness, 
Our  darkling  path,  to  cheer  and  bless  ? 

Beautiful  thing  !   thou  art  come,  in  love, 
With  gentle  gales,  from  that  world  above ; 
Breathing  of  pureness,  breathing  of  bliss, 
Bearing  our  spirits,  away  from  this, 
To  the  better  thoughts,  to  the  brighter  skies, 
Where  heaven's  unclouded  sunshine  lies  : 
Winning  our  hearts,  by  a  blessed  guile, 
With  that  infant  look,  and  angel  smile. 

Beautiful  thing  !  thou  art  come  in  joy, 

With  the  look,  with  the  voice,  of  our  darling  boy, 

1  Yet  far  more  faire,  be  those  bright  Cherubins 
Which  all  with  golden    ivings,  are  overdight, 
And  those  eternall  burning  Serapbins, 
Which,  from  their  faces,  dart  out  fierie  light." 

Spenser — Hymne  of  Heavenly  Beautie. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  97 

Him  that  was  torn,  from  the  bleeding  hearts 
He  had  twined  about,  with  his  infant  arts, 
To  dwell,  from  sin  and  sorrow  far, 
In  the  golden  orb,  of  his  little  star  — x 
There  he  rejoiceth,  while  we,  oh  !  we, 
Long  to  be  happy,  and  safe,  as  he. 

Beautiful  thing  !  thou  art  come  in  peace, 
Bidding  our  doubts  and  fears  to  cease, 
Wiping  the  tears,  that,  unbidden,  start, 
From  their  fountain  deep,  in  the  broken  heart ; 
Cheering  us  still,  on  our  lonely  way, 
Lest  our  hearts  should  faint,  or  our  feet  should  stray, 
Till,  crowned  for  the  conquest,  at  last  we  shall  be, 
Beautiful  thing,  with  our  boy,  and  thee  ! 
Boston,  1828. 


THE  CLOUD  BRIDGE. 

SAW  ye  that  cloud  which  arose  in  the  west, 
As  the  burning  sun  sank  down  to  rest, 
How  it  spread  so  wide,  and  towered  so  high, 
On  the  molten  gold,  of  that  glowing  sky, 

1 "  Dear  Sir, —  I  am  in  some  little  disorder  by  reason  of  the  death  of  a  little 
child  of  mine,  a  boy  that  lately  made  us  very  glad  ;  but  noiu  be  rejoices  in  bis 
little  orbey  'while  we  thinke,  and  sigh,  and  long  to  be  as  safe  as  be  is." 

Jer.  Taylor  to  Evelyn,  July  19,  1656. 

"  Remember,  sir,  your  two  boys  are  two  bright  starres,  and  their  innocence 
is  secured,  and  you  shall  never  hear  evil  of  them  agayne." 

Jer.  Taylor  to  Evelyn,  Feb.  17,  1657. 

13 


98  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

That  it  seemed,  oh  it  seemed,  like  some  arched  way, 
As  it  beamed  and  gleamed,  in  that  glorious  ray, 

Where  the  spirit  freed, 

From  its  earthly  weed, 

And  robed,  in  the  white, 

Of  the  saints  in  light. 

Might  pass,  from  the  realms  of  sin  and  woe, 
To  that  world,  where  ceaseless  pleasures  flow. 

Ye  saw  that  cloud  ;  how  it  towered  alone, 

Like  an  arched  path,  o'er  the  billows  thrown  ; 

How  its  pillars  of  purple  and  azure,  stood 

And  mocked  at  the  dash  of  the  angry  flood  ; 

While  it  beamed,  oh  it  beamed,  from  its  battlements  high, 

As  it  gleamed  and  streamed,  in  that  western  sky, 

Such  a  flood  of  mellow  and  golden  light, 

As  charmed  and  fixed,  the  ravished  sight, 

And  shed,  on  earth's  benighted  way, 

The  peace  and  joy,  of  celestial  day. 

Such,  as  we  haste  to  our  better  home, 

Saviour,  such,  be  the  sights  that  come; 

Thus,  while  the  visions  of  time  flit  by, 

And  the  fashion  of  earth,  grows  dim  to  our  eye, 

Then  let  the  light,  oh  the  light,  of  Thy  love, 

Beam  bright,  on  our  sight,  from  the  mansions  above, 

Rending  the  gloom, 

That  enwraps  the  tomb, 

And  guiding  our  eye, 

To  that  world  on  high, 

Where  the  people  that  love  Thee,  forever  shall  share, 
The  rest,  Thou  hast  purchased,  and  gone  to  prepare. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  99 


THE  BLESSED  SUN  WILL  SHINE. 

"  Tis  cloudy  now.      Sing  while  the  clouds  are  thick. 

THE  BLESSED  SUN  WILL  SHINE  !" 

"  SING,  while  the  clouds  are  thick, 

lt  The  blessed  Sun  will  shine  ;" 
Far  up  above  the  lowering  sky 

He  pours  his  flood  divine  : 
•  Careering  thence,  the  mighty  wave 

Will  urge  its  onward  way, 
And  o'er  the  loneliest  spot  of  earth 

Pour  heaven's  benignant  ray. 

"  SING,  while  the  clouds  are  thick, 

"  The  blessed  Sun  will  shine  ;" 
The  God  who  hears  the  infant's  cry, 

Will  surely  answer  thine : 
Before  the  beaming  of  His  smile, 

All  forms  of  sorrow  pass, 
Like  summer  clouds,  that  float  at  noon, 

Athwart  the  waving  grass. 

"  SING,  while  the  clouds  are  thick, 

"  The  blessed  Sun  will  shine  ;" 
A  few  short  years,  and  from  the  sky 

Beams  forth  the  Saviour's  sign  : 
Above  the  brightness  of  the  Sun, 

It  flames,  with  living  light ; 
And  heaven  and  earth,  through  endless  days, 

Their  songs  of  joy,  unite. 


00  SONGS  BY   THE   WAY. 

HYMN. 

For  the  Fatherless  and  Widows'  Society. 

GOD  of  Grace,  in  glory  reigning, 

Far  above  the  eternal  sky, 
Hear  the  orphan's  sad  complaining, 

See  the  widow's  tearful  eye. 
Thou,  all  strength  and  power,  possessing, 

Health  and  comfort,  canst  impart, 
Crown  the  orphan's  cup,  with  blessing, 

Fill  with  joy,  the  widow's  heart. 

Lord,  they  were  thine  own  possession, 

In  that  old  Mosaic  day, 
When,  to  Judah's  favoured  nation, 

Thus,  thou  bad'st,  the  prophet  say  ; 
"  When  the  ripened  harvest,  brought  in, 

"  Fills  thy  barns,  with  golden  grain, 
u  Seek  not  thou,  the  sheaf  forgotten  ; 

"  'Tis  the  homeless  stranger's  gain  ! 

u  When  thine  olive  yields  its  treasure, 

"  Search  not  every  bough,  with  care  ; 
God  will  give  thee  fuller  measure, 

"  If  thou  leave  the  orphan's  share  ! 
"  When  the  land,  with  purple  staining, 

"  Thou  shalt  bring  thy  vintage,  in, 
"  Grudge  not,  then,  the  grapes  remaining; 

"  Which  the  widow's  hand  may  glean  !" 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  IOI 

Lord,  whose  mercy  never  changes, 

Whose  uprightness,  still  is  sure, 
Still  the  widow's  cause  avenges, 

Helps  the  fatherless  and  poor, 
Now,  Thine  Holy  Ghost,  outsending, 

From  Thy  glorious  throne,  above  ; 
Fill  the  hearts,  before  Thee  bending, 

With  Thine  own  exulting  love  ! 


THE  DILEMMA. 

FVE  tried,  in  much  bewilderment,  to  find, 
Under  which  phase  of  loveliness,  in  thee, 

I  love  thee  best ;  but,  oh,  my  wandering  mind, 
Hovers  o'er  many  sweets,  as  doth  a  bee, 
And  all  I  feel,  is  contradictory. 

I  love  to  see  thee  gay  ;  because  thy  smile, 
Is  sweeter  than  the  sweetest  thing  I  know ; 

And,  then,  thy  limpid  eyes,  are  all  the  while, 

Sparkling  and  dancing  ;  and  thy  fair  cheeks  glow, 
With  such  a  sunset  lustre,  that  e'en  so, 
I  love  to  see  thee  gay. 

I  love  to  see  thee  sad  ;  for  then,  thy  face 

Expresseth  an  angelic  misery  ; 
Thy  tears  are  shed,  with  such  a  gentle  grace ; 

Thv  words  fall  soft,  vet  sweet  as  words  can  be, 


102  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

That,  though  'tis  selfish,  I  confess,  in  me, 
I  love  to  see  thee  sad. 

I  love  to  hear  thee  speak,  because  thy  voice, 
Than  music's  self,  is  still  more  musical, 

Its  tones  make  every  living  thing  rejoice ; 

And  I,  when,  on  mine  ear  those  accents  fall, 
In  sooth,  I  do  believe,  that,  most  of  all, 
I  love  to  hear  thee  speak. 

Yet,  no  !   I  love  thee  mute  ;  for,  then,  thine  eyes 
Express  so  much,  thou  hast  no  need  of  speech, 

And  there's  a  language,  that  in  silence  lies, 

When  two  full  hearts  look  fondness,  each  to  each, 
Love's  language,  that  I  fain  to  thee,  would  teach, 
And  so,  I  love  thee  mute. 

Thus,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  sweet, 
Nothing  thou  dost,  can  less  than  perfect  be  ; 

All  beauties  and  all  virtues,  in  thee  meet ; 
Yet  one  thing  more,  I'd  fain  behold  in  thee, 
A  little  love,  a  little  love,  for  me. 


LINES  BY  THE  LAKE-SIDE. 

THIS  placid  lake,  my  gentle  girl, 

Be  emblem  of  thy  life, 
As  full  of  peace,  and  purity, 

As  free  from  care  and  strife  ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  JOj 

No  ripple,  on  its  tranquil  breast, 

That  dies  not,  with  the  day  ; 
No  pebble,  in  its  darkest  depths, 

But  quivers  in  its  ray. 

And  see.,  how  every  glorious  form, 

And  pageant  of  the  skies, 
Reflected,  from  its  glassy  face, 

A  mirrored  image  lies  ; 
So  be  thy  spirit,  ever  pure, 

To  God,  to  virtue,  given  ; 
And  thought,  and  word,  and  action,  bear 

The  imagery  of  Heaven. 
1831. 


1830 — 1840. 
BISHOP  RAVENSCROFT. 

THE  good  old  man  is  gone  ! 
He  lies  in  his  saintly  rest, 

And  his  labours  all  are  done, 
And  the  work,  that  he  loved  the  best : 

The  good  old  man  is  gone, 
But  the  dead,  in  the  Lord,  are  blessed  ! 

I  stood  in  the  holy  aisle, 
When  he  spake  the  solemn  word, 

That  bound  him,  through  care  and  toil, 
The  servant  of  the  Lord  : 


104  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

And  I  saw,  how  the  depths  of  his  manly  soul, 
By  that  sacred  vow,  were  stirred. 

And  nobly,  his  pledge  he  kept  ; 
For  the  truth,  he  stood  alone, 

And  his  spirit  never  slept, 
And  his  march  was  ever,  on  ! 

Oh  !  deeply  and  long,  shall  his  loss  be  wept ; 
The  brave  old  man,  that's  gone. 

There  were  heralds  of  the  cross, 
By  his  bed  of  death,  that  stood, 

And  heard,  how  he  counted  all  but  loss, 
For  the  gain  of  his  Saviour's  blood  ; 

And  patiently  waited  his  Master's  voice, 
Let  it  call  him,  when  it  would. 

The  good  old  man  is  gone  ! 
An  apostle's  chair  is  void, 

There's  dust  on  his  mitre,  thrown, 
And  they've  broken  his  pastoral  rod  ! 

And  the  fold  of  his  love,  he  has  left  alone, 
To  account  for  its  care,  to  God. 

The  wise  old  man  is  gone  ; 
His  honoured  head  lies  low, 

And  his  thoughts,  of  power  are  done, 
And  his  voice's  manly  flow, 
And   his   pen,   that,   for   truth,  like   a   sword, 

was  drawn, 
Is  still,  and  soulless,  now. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  105 

The  brave  old  man  is  gone  ! 
With  his  armour  on,  he  fell  ; 

Nor  a  groan,  nor  a  sigh,  was  drawn, 
When  his  spirit  fled,  to  tell  ; 

For  mortal  sufferings,  keen  and  long, 
Had  no  power,  his  heart  to  quell. 

The  good  old  man  is  gone  ! 
He  is  gone,  to  his  saintly  rest ; 

Where  no  sorrow  can  be  known, 
And  no  trouble  can  molest ; 

For  his  crown  of  life  is  won, 
And  the  dead,  in  Christ,  are  blessed  ! 
Boston^  March  15,  1830. 


WRITTEN  ON  LEAVING  HOME. 

I  LEAVE  thee,  dearest,  for  a  while, 
Yet  leave  thee,  with  our  God  ; 

His  sheltering  wing,  is  o'er  us  still, 
At  home,  and  when  abroad. 

I  leave  with  thee,  our  little  ones, 

The  lovely,  and  the  loved  ; 
And  if,  for  only  joy  I  sought, 

My  feet  had  never  roved. 
H 


IO6  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

But  He  who  gave,  and  guards  them,  still, 
Has  called  me,  as  His  own, 

To  bear  His  word  to  sinful  men, 
And  lead  them  to  His  throne. 

Thus  must  the  Master's  work  be  mine, 
Till  life's  brief  hour,  is  o'er  ; 

I  dare  not  "  love  thee,"  dear,  so  well, 
Loved  I  not  Jesus,  more. 


TO  MY  DEAR  GEORGE  HOBART. 

MY  beauty  and  my  blessing, 

A  year  ago,  to-day, 
Thy  little  eyes  first  opened, 

To  the  morning's  blessed  ray  ; 
And,  as  I  saw  thee  lying, 

On  thy  gentle  Mother's  breast, 
I  felt,  what  only  Fathers  feel, 

And  cannot  be  expressed. 

My  beauty,  what  strange  wonders, 

Since  that  day,  have  been  wrought ; 
Thy  life,  how  wreathed  with  sunny  smiles, 

Thine  eye,  how  full  of  thought  ! 
How  many  a  queer  and  quaint  device, 

How  many  a  guileless  art  j 
Thine  infant  nature's  eloquence, 

To  win  a  parent's  heart. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  IOJ 

My  blessing,  such  I  feel  thee, 

With  each  returning  day, 
A  fountain,  heaven-opened, 

To  refresh  life's  dusty  way  ; 
To  cheer,  with  love,  and  hope,  the  path, 

Else,  ah  !  how  lonely  trod, 
And  lift  the  heart's  affections,  up, 

In  prayers,  for  thee,  to  God. 

My  beauty  and  my  blessing, 

For  thee,  my  prayers  shall  rise, 
With  morning's  dawn,  and  evening's  fall, 

Unfailing,  to  the  skies  ; 
That  He,  who  gave  thee,  to  us, 

Would  guard  and  guide  thy  way, 
Through  life,  in  peace  and  purity, 

To  Heaven's  eternal  day. 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OPENED  IN  THE  CHURCH 

WITHIN  the  Church,  a  fountain  springs  ; 

It  started  from  the  Saviour's  side  •, 
Peace,  pardon,  joy,  to  all,  it  brings,— 

The  life-blood  of  the  Crucified. 

Its  living  streams,  forever  flow, 

Forever  pure,  forever  free  ; 
The  spirit's  solace,  here  below, 

Its  succour,  for  eternity. 


108  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

"  Ho,  every  one  that  thirsts,  draw  nigh  —  " 
Beloved,  hear  the  voice  divine  ! 

The  broken  heart,  the  contrite  sigh, 

Are  welcome  there  j  and  these  are  thine. 

Come,  then  —  the  Spirit  calls, —  come  near, 
In  humble  faith,  in  trembling  love  : 

Drink  comfort,  for  thy  sorrows  here, 
And  taste,  before,  the  bliss  above. 


SPIRIT  OF  SPRING. 

SPIRIT,  that  from  the  breathing  south, 
Art  wafted  hither,  on  dewy  wing, 

By  the  softened  light,  of  that  sunny  eye, 
And  that  voice,  of  wild-wood  melody, 
And  those  golden  tresses,  wantoning, 
And  the  perfumed  breath,  of  that  balmy  mouth, 

We  know  thee,  Spirit  of  Spring, 
Spirit  of  beauty,  these  thy  charms,  Spirit  of  Spring. 

Spirit  of  Spring,  thou  comest  to  wake. 
The  slumbering  energies  of  earth, 

The  zephyr's  breath,  to  thee,  we  owe, 
Thine  is  the  streamlet's  silver  flow, 
And  thine,  the  gentle  floweret's  birth  ; 
And  their  silence,  hark  !  the  wild  birds  break, 
For  thy  welcome,  Spirit  of  Spring. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  109 

Spirit  of  Spring,  when  the  cheek  is  pale, 
There  is  health,  in  thy  balmy  air, 

And  peace,  in  that  brow  of  beaming  bright, 
And  joy,  in  that  eye  of  sunny  light ; 
And  golden  hope,  in  that  flowing  hair ; 
Oh  !  that  such  influence  e'er  should  fail, 

For  a  moment,  Spirit  of  Spring, 
Spirit  of  health,  peace,  joy,  and  hope ;  Spirit  of  Spring. 

Yet  fail  it  must,  for  it  comes  of  earth, 
And  it  may  not  shame  its  place  of  birth, 
Where  the  best  can  bloom,  but  a  single  day, 
And  the  fairest,  is  first  to  fade  away. 

But  oh  !  there's  a  changeless  world  above, 
A  world  of  peace,  and  joy,  and  love, 

Where,  gathered  from  the  tomb, 
The  holy  hopes,  that  earth  hast  crost, 
And  the  friends,  so  dear,  we  have  loved  and  lost, 

Shall  enjoy  immortal  bloom. 

Who  will  not  watch,  and  strive,  and  pray, 
That  his  longing  soul  may  soar  away, 

On  faith's  untiring  wing, 
To  join  the  throng  of  saints  in  light, 
In  that  world,  forever  fair  and  bright, 

Of  endless,  cloudless,  Spring. 

'833- 


IIO  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

THE  AMULET  OF  GRACE. 

Written  in  "  the  Amulet." 

DEAREST,  could  thy  husband  get, 
With  his  blood,  an  amulet, 
That  could  charm  away  thy  woe, 
From  his  heart  the  stream  should  flow. 

But  from  mortal  misery, 
Such  redemption  may  not  be  ; 
Vain  before  the  holy  God, 
Oceans  filled  with  human  blood. 

Yet  let  heaven  and  earth  resound, 
Such  a  ransom  has  been  found, 
God's  atoning  Lamb  has  died, 
Jesus  has  been  crucified. 

Dearest,  let  that  fountain  be, 
Opened,  not  in  vain,  for  thee : 
It  alone,  can  soothe,  can  save  ; 
Seek,  by  faith,  its  precious  wave. 

Seek  it,  sweet  one,  while  you  may, 
Seek  it,  while  'tis  called  to  day. 
Seek  the  Lamb,  for  sinners  slain  — 
None  who  seek  Him,  seek  in  vain. 

January  I,  1833. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  Ill 


TO  MY  DEAR  SISTER. 

MY  sister,  I  remember, 

How  lonely  was  my  heart, 
Till  thou,  in  all  its  joys  and  griefs, 

Wert  born,  to  bear  a  part : — 
And  well  do  I  remember 

The  pleasure  and  the  pride, 
That  filled  my  boyish  bosom, 

When  thou  wert  by  my  side. 

My  sister,  since  you  joined  me, 

Upon  life's  rugged  way, 
Through  what  vicissitudes,  we've  passed, 

Of  darkness  and  of  day. 
Yet  still,  thy  love  has  steadfast  been, 

Unchanged  in  cloud,  or  shine, 
And  thy  own  sorrow,  been  forgot, 

To  sympathize  with  mine. 

My  sister,  to  repay  thee 

Is  only,  with  the  Lord, 
And  He  can  make  thy  love,  its  own 

Exceeding  great  reward. 
O  !  ever  may  His  sheltering  shield, 

Outstretched  above  thee,  lie, 
And  brightest  beams  of  light,  direct 

Thy  footsteps,  to  the  sky. 
Philadelphia,  March  2,  1834. 


112  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

TO  WILLIAM  CROSWELL. 

"  Perennis  et  Fragrans." 

WILLIAM,  my  brother  and  my  bosom  friend  ! 

For  thrice  ten  years,  the  sun,  this  blessed  day, 
Has  lighted  thee  along  life's  chequered  way, 

Serene  and  placid,  towards  thy  journey's  end. 

One  third  the  distance,  we  have  trod  tog-ether, 

'  O  7 

Hand  grasping  hand,  and  heart  enclosed  in  heart, 
Each  of  the  other's  life,  breath,  being,  part; 
Breasting  as  one,  time's  rough  and  rugged  weather. 
Poet  and  Priest,  as  in  thy  face  I  look, 

So  full  of  thought,  so  tranquil,  so  benign, 
With  pride  of  soul,  to  hail  thee  friend  of  mine, 
I  greet  thee,  with  the  legend  of  this  book  : — 
"  Fragrant  and  lasting,"  be  thy  memory  here, 
And  then  a  fadeless  crown,  through  heaven's  immortal 
year  ! 

Burlington,  Nov.  7,  1834. 


A  PRAYER. 

GRANT  me,  great  Lord,  Thy  graces  three, 
Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Charity  ; 
Faith,  that  on  the  cross  relies, 
And  trusts,  but  in  Thy  sacrifice. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  J  13 

Hope,  that,  when  by  woe  opprest, 

Points  upward  to  a  heavenly  rest ; 

And  last,  the  greatest  of  the  three, 

O  !  give  me  gentle  Charity : 

To  suffer  all ;  to  know  no  pride  ; 

To  strive,  another's  faults  to  hide  ; 

To  answer  with  a  soothing  smile, 

When  men,  with  angry  words,  revile  ; 

To  envy  not  that  happiness, 

Thy  hand  denies  me,  to  possess ; 

The  rich  man's  wealth  to  covet  not, 

Though  poverty  should  be  my  lot. 

Teach  me  through  every  earthly  ill, 

To  be  submissive,  to  Thy  will ; 

And  let  me  of  Thy  grace,  receive, 

As  I,  my  enemies,  forgive, 

Then  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Charity 

Will  lead  me  on,  to  Heaven,  through  Thee. 


THE  GERANIUM  LEAF. 

"  It  grew  and  blew,  in  my  little  room,  and  I  pressed  it  in  my  Bible." 

TEN  thousand  thanks,  my  dearest,  for  this  precious  little 

leaf, 

Henceforth,  to  bear  me  company,  in  pleasure  and  in  grief; 
Still  breathing  to  my  heart,  its  fragrant  memories  of  thee, 
And  consecrating  all  the  past,  with  natural  piety. 
15 


114  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

I  gaze  upon  its  greenness,  and  I  think  of  where  it  blew, 
Till  all  that  charmed  atmosphere  grows  radiant  to  my  view, 
And  I  felt  it  was  a  happy  lot,  to  live,  and  grow,  and  bloom, 
Beneath  thy  light  of  loveliness,  in  that  enchanted  room. 

Be  ever  thus,  my  gentle  one,  the  Bible  at  thy  side, 
And  every  joy  and  every  grief,  shall  thus  be  sanctified  ; 
Nor  trust  the  love,  that  only  drinks  at  fountains  of  the  earth, 
To  satisfy  the  longings,  of  a  soul  of  heavenly  birth. 

1838. 


SPRING  THOUGHTS. 

DEAREST,  those  purple  flowers, 

They  seem  to  me  to  spring, 
From  the  grave  of  him,1  whose  loving  breast 
Was  wont  to  be  the  living  nest 

Of  each  beautiful  thought  and  thing. 

Dearest,  those  early  flowers, 

They  speak  to  me  of  him, 
With  the  youthful  mind,  so  richly  stored 
With  loftiest  thoughts,  and  as  freely  poured, 

As  from  fountain's  bubbling  brim. 

Dearest,  those  fragrant  flowers 
Are  odours  of  his  life, 

;  The  Rev.  B.  D.  Winslow. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  115 

The  gentle-hearted,  the  heavenly-willed, 
With  the  choicest  grace  of  the  Holiest,  filled, 
Where  loveliest  deeds,  were  rife. 

Dearest,  they  breathe,  those  flowers, 

Of  the  land,  where  he  takes  his  rest, 
Where  the  river  of  immortality  flows, 
With  our  White,  and  Hobart,  and  Jebb,  and  Rose, 
And  all,  that  he  loved,  the  best. 

Dearest,  they  say,  those  flowers  — 

Earth's  winter  womb's  first  born  — 
"  So  shall  the  dead  in  Christ  arise, 
Heirs  of  the  world,  beyond  the  skies, 
On  the  resurrection  morn." 


1839. 


TO  MY  WIFE. 

"  It  is  well."  « 

BELOVED,  "  it  is  well ! — " 
God's  ways  are  always  right 

And  love  is  o'er  them  all, 
Though  far  above  our  sight. 

In  a  little  book  of  Dr.  Bedell's,  having  this  title. 


I  I  6  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Beloved,  "  it  is  well  !—  " 

Though  deep  and  sore,  the  smart, 

He  wounds,  who  skills  to  bind, 
And  heal  the  broken  heart. 

Beloved,  "it  is  well  !—  " 

Though  sorrow  clouds  our  way, 

'Twill  make  the  joy  more  dear, 
That  ushers  in  the  day. 

Beloved,  "It  is  well!—  " 
The  path  that  Jesus  trod, 

Though  rough  and  dark  it  be, 
Leads  home,  to  heaven,  and  God. 

March  2,  1833. 


TO  MY  WIFE. 

MY  only,  and  my  own  one, 

How  dark  and  drear,  the  day 
That  drags  its  lingering  hours  along  ; 

When  thou  art  far  away, 
The  loveliness,  that  lighted  up 

My  life,  no  longer  nigh, 
And  hushed  the  voice,  that  used  to  fill 

My  soul  with  melody. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  117 

High,  in  the  broad  blue  firmament, 

Among  those  worlds  of  light, 
The  faithful  witness  holds  her  place, 

Constant,  serene,  and  bright ; 
My  aching  heart  in  sadness  sinks, 

For  so,  her  placid  eye 
Looked  down,  when  heart  to  heart,  we  walked, 

In  hours  of  joy,  gone  by. 

I  sit  among  my  silent  books, 

And  think,  with  what  a  pride, 
I  scanned  their  hoarded  treasures  o'er, 

When  thou  wert  by  my  side ; 
I  listen  for  thy  gentle  step, 

I  watch  the  opening  door; 
The  page  is  marked,  the  pen  laid  down, 

Alas  !  thou  comest  no  more. 

By  day  or  night  ;  at  home,  abroad, 

Where'er  I  roam  or  rest, 
The  thought  of  thee,  my  absent  love, 

Thus  fills  my  faithful  breast ; 
Nor  bitter,  bitter,  though  it  be, 

As  pang  of  parting  life  ; 
Has  earth  a  joy,  my  soul  so  craves, 

While  thou'rt  away,  my  wife. 


I  1  8  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

TO  MY  DEAR  SISTER. 

ON  HER  I9TH  BIRTHDAY, 

MY  gentle  sister,  if  the  love, 

My  bosom  bears  for  thee, 
Were  poured,  like  running  waters,  out, 

'Twould  be  a  surging  sea. 
But  fullest  streams,  are  ever  those, 

Most  silently  which  run, 
And  the  deep  earth  has  deeper  founts, 

Than  ever  see  the  sun. 

My  gentle  sister,  could  the  thoughts,     . 

That  throng  my  heart,  of  thee, 
Be  coined  in  ducats,  what  a  shower, 

Of  minted  gold,  'twould  be  ! 
But  richest  ores,  lie  farthest  down, 

And,  ripening  in  the  mine, 
Sleep  gold  and  jewels,  costlier  far 

Than  all,  on  earth,  that  shine. 

Then,  gentle  sister,  think  not  hard, 

Nor  count  it,  loss  of  love, 
That  ne'er  for  thee,  in  idle  hours, 

One  idle  rhyme  I've  wove  ; 
That  fitful  harp,  whose  sleeping  strings, 

The  wild  wind  wakes  at  will, 
The  soul  of  music  harbours  yet, 

Though  all  its  strings  are  still. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  I  19 

Then,  sister  dearest,  with  the  year, 

That  newly  dawns  to-day, 
To  light  thee  on,  in  gentlenesss, 

Thy  pure  and  peaceful  way ; 
Take  deeply,  warmly,  from  the  heart, 

The  silent  prayer  of  love  — 
God's  blessing  be  thy  portion  here, 

His  blessedness  above  ! 


TO  MY  DEAR  SISTER. 

MY  gentle  sister,  twenty  years, 

To  day,  have  flitted  by, 
Since  first  thou  earnest,  a  helpless  thing, 

Among  our  hearts  to  lie. 
We  welcomed  thee,  as  best  we  might, 

With  mingled  smiles  and  tears; 
And  poured,  we  could  no  more,  our  prayers, 

For  blessings  on  thy  years. 

And,  sister  sweet,  our  prayers  were  heard, 

God's  blessed  one  thou  art  : 
Not,  with  the  rich,  or  proud,  or  gay, 

But,  with  the  pure  in  heart : 
His  gifts,  to  thee,  in  gentleness 

And  piety,  are  given  ; 
The  treasures  that  endure,  on  earth, 

And  never  fail  in  heaven, 


120  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

My  gentle  sister,  thou  hast  been, 

Even  as  a  child  to  me, 
Since  first  thy  new-born  helplessness 

Was  tended  on  my  knee  j 
And  stretched  upon  the  shaded  bank, 

Whole  summer  days,  I  lay, 
And  watched,  as  with  a  parent's  joy, 

Thy  happy,  infant  play. 

And  still,  the  holy  bond  endures, 

And  still,  a  father's  care 
Makes  tenderer,  deeper,  more  intense, 

The  love,  for  thee,  I  bear. 
It  grows  with  years,  with  cares  it  grows, 

Unchanged  by  change  of  lot  ; 
In  joy  and  sorrow,  hope  and  fear, 

Still  failing,  faltering  not. 

My  gentle  sistef  may  the  years, 

That  yet  remain  to  thee, 
Be  spent,  as  all  the  past  have  been, 

In  tranquil  piety  : 
May  Heaven,  in  mercy,  spare  thee  long 

To  all  who  share  thy  love  ; 
And  faith  and  peace,  prepare  thee  here, 

For  endless  joy  above  ! 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  121 

1840-1850. 
TO  MY  TWO  DEAR  CHILDREN. 

CORNELIA  AND  ANNIE  R. 

YOUR  beautiful  present,1  my  children, 

Has  filled  me  with  pleasure  and  joy, 
That  the  thought  of  my  personal  comfort, 

Your  fingers,  and  hearts,  should  employ. 
Be  assured  of  my  fond  supplication, 

That  you,  in  all  grace  may  increase, 
And  your  feet  have  that  blest  "  preparation  " 

That  comes  from  the  "  Gospel  of  Peace." 

Christmas,  1846. 


THE  SMELL  OF  SPRING. 

The  first  violets  of  the  year  1840,  seen  this  day,  4th  March,  Ash  Wednesday. 

THE  smell  of  Spring  !  how  it  comes  to  us, 

In  those  simple,  wild-wood  flowers, 
With  memories  sweet,  of  friends  and  home, 
When  never  a  cloud  on  our  sky  had  come, 
In  childhood's  cheerful  hours. 

1  A  pair  of  slippers. 

16 


122  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

The  smell  of  Spring  !  how  it  comes  to  us, 

In  that  cluster  of  purple  bloom, 
With  thoughts  of  the  loved  and  loving  one, 
Not  lost,  we  know,  but  before  us  gone, 
Whom  we  left,  in  his  wintry  tomb. 

The  smell  of  Spring  !  how  it  comes  to  us, 

In  the  violet's  fragrant  breath, 
With  beaming  hopes  of  that  brighter  shore, 
Where  flowers  and  friends,  shall  fall  no  more, 

"  And  there  shall  be  no  more  death." 
1840. 


TO  A  DEAR  LITTLE  BOY. 

WITH  A  BIBLE. 

THIS  little  book,  my  precious  boy, 

If  studied  and  obeyed, 
Will  bring  Heaven's  choicest  blessings  down 

Upon  thy  youthful  head  ; 

Will  lead  thee,  shouldst  thou  grow  a  man, 

Safe  through  life's  pilgrimage  j 
And  crown  thy  latest  days  with  peace, 

The  glory  of  old  age. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  123 

Nay,  will  not  leave  thee  then,  my  boy, 

But  through  the  darkling  grave 
Support  and  guide  thy  shrinking  feet, 

And  in  the  judgment,  save. 

Then  take  this  book,  my  precious  boy, 

And  study  it  with  prayer ; 
'Twill  charm  for  thee  each  ill  of  earth, 

And  foil  each  secret  snare. 

'Twill  teach  thee,  wisely,  how  to  live, 

And,  better,  how  to  die  ; 
And  bring  thee,  saved,  through  Christ,  from  sin, 

To  reign  with  Him,  on  high. 


WITH  A  BIBLE  AND  PRAYER  BOOK, 

TO  MY  GODSON. 

DEAR  boy,  had  I  the  wealth  of  worlds 

To  lavish  full  and  free, 
I  could  add  nothing  to  the  gifts, 

Which  now  I  send  to  thee. 

The  Word  of  God,  the  Church's  prayers 

With  all  thy  heart  embrace  ; 
And  thou  shalt  never  lose  the  gift, 

Of  thy  baptismal  grace, 


124  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

The  cross,  imprinted  on  thy  brow, 

Enthroned  thus  within, 
Shall  save  thee  from  the  guilt  and  power, 

And  punishment  of  sin  ; 

Through  all  the  changing  scenes  of  life 
Thy  succour  and  thy  stay, 

Shall  guide  thee  onward  thro'  the  grave, 
To  realms  of  endless  day. 


ON  THE  LITTLE  URN  IN  THE  GARDEN. 
"H.  T.  Jan.  16,  1815.     M.  T.  Oct.  12,  1815." 

"  Lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives,  and  in  their  death  they  were  not  divided.'' 

WIND,  graceful  clematis,  around  the  urn, 

Where  filial  love,  a  Mother's  name  has  traced, 

Type  of  her  loveliness,  whose  loss  we  mourn, 
With  every  charm,  with  every  virtue,  graced. 

Wave,  tall  acacia,  o'er  the  sacred  stone, 

Which  bears  inscribed  a  Father's  honoured  name ; 

So  was  his  sheltering  shadow,  round  us,  thrown, 
So  fresh,  so  full,  the  verdure  of  his  fame. 

Blend  thus  your  leaf  and  tendril,  vine  and  tree, 
And  waft,  as  one,  the  fragrance  of  your  flowers  ; 

So  they,  in  fond  communion,  full  and  free, 

Passed  their  sweet  lives,  amid  these  happy  bowers. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  125 

Sweet  sainted  ones,  thus  lovely  in  your  life, 
Nor,  in  your  peaceful  death,  divided  long, 

Saved  from  the  world,  its  sin,  its  care,  its  strife, 

May  we  but  join  you,  in  that  white-robed  throng. 
Battersea  Rise,  1841. 


"SO  HE  GIVETH  HIS  BELOVED  SLEEP.3 

"  Your  boy  is  looking  as  peaceful  and  happy,  asleep  in  his  cradle, 
as  you  can  desire." 

SLEEP  lies  like  dew  about  thee, 

The  sleep,  which  God  bestows ; 
Nor  pain,  nor  care,  nor  sorrow,  yet, 

Thy  peaceful  spirit  knows  : 
Washed,  from  the  first  transgression, 

In  that  baptismal  flood  ; 
God  makes  thee,  His  beloved, 

Through  the  Beloved's  blood. 

Sleep  sweetly  on,  and  safely, 

Mine  own  baptismal  child  ; 
Calm,  as  the  stream  in  Eden's  bower, 

While  yet  Jehovah  smiled  ; 
The  heavenly  Dove  hangs  o'er  thee, 

With  blessed,  brooding  wing, 
To  shelter  and  to  shield  thee, 

From  evil  thought  and  thing. 
London,  August  24,  1841. 


126  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


THE  BEAUCHAMP  MONUMENT, 

IN  THE  CHOIR  OF  WARWICK  CHURCH. 

"  Te  spectem,  suprema  mihi  cum  venerit  hora, 
Te  teneam  moriens  deficiente  manu."  x 

Tibullus  Eleg.t  \.  59,  60. 

"  LOVE,  let  me  take  thy  hand, 

That  tenderest,  truest  one, 
The  same  I  held,  when  we  did  stand, 

Before  the  altar  stone  : 
There,  let  me  hold  it  so  ; 

It  stays  my  fluttering  heart : 
Nor,  till  its  pulses  cease  to  flow, 

Permit  that  grasp  to  part. 

"Nay, —  when  thy  breast,  my  bride, 

Mingles  its  dust  with  mine, 
And  sweetly  sleeping,  side  by  side, 

We  rest  beneath  the  shrine  ; 
So  let  the  Sculptor's  art, 

Our  love  perpetuate : 
The  grasp,  that  life  could  never  part, 

Death  shall  but  consecrate  !" 

1  Thee  let  me  gaze  on,  with  my  dying  breath, 
And  clasp  thy  hand,  when  mine  relents  in  death. 

G.  W.  D. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  1 2.J 

Thus  dying  Beauchamp  spake  ; 

His  will  was  strictly  done  ;r 
Sweetly  they  sleep,  as  once  they  stood, 

Before  the  altar-stone  ; 
He,  in  his  mailed  coat, 

She,  in  her  bridal  vest ; 
In  sculptured  beauty,  side  by  side, 

And  hand  in  hand,  they  rest. 

I've  stood  among  the  tombs, 

In  many  an  ancient  fane, 
Where  mitred  head,  and  sworded  hand, 

Call  ages  up,  again  : 
But  all  the  stone  seems  here 

Instinct  with  vital  breath  ; 
And  this,  its  lesson  to  the  heart  — 

LOVE,  OVERMASTERING  DEATH. 

Stratford-upon-Avon,  2^tb  July^  1841. 

1  In  the  centre  of  the  choir  is  a  fine  table  monument,  supporting  the  recum- 
bent effigies  of  Earl  Thomas  Beauchamp,  the  founder  of  the  choir,  and  Catha- 
rine, his  Countess,  daughter  of  Roger  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March.  The  Earl  is 
represented  in  armour  covered  with  a  surcoat,  a  dagger  on  his  right  side,  spurs 
on  his  heels,  his  left  hand  gauntleted,  resting  on  his  sword,  bis  right  band  un- 
covered, clasping  that  of  bis  Countess,  his  helmeted  head  supported  by  a  cushion, 
his  feet  resting  on  a  bear.  His  Countess  is  habited  in  a  mantle  and  petticoat, 
laced  down  the  front,  below  the  girdle,  and  very  rich,  her  sleeves  reaching  to 
the  wrists,  and  buttoned,  her  headdress  reticulated,  her  head  supported  by  a 
cushion,  and  her  feet  resting  on  a  lamb.  Her  right  band  is  clasped  in  that  of 
the  Early  her  left  hand  reposes  on  her  breast. 


128          SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


THE  BEAUCHAMP  MONUMENT.1 

HAND  in  hand,  we  stood  together, 

At  the  altar-stone  ; 
Hand  in  hand,  in  roughest  weather, 

Life-long,  we  have  gone : 
Hand  in  hand,  in  hours  of  gladness, 

Cheerily  we  strayed  ; 
Hand  in  hand,  in  hours  of  sadness, 

Knelt  to  God,  and  prayed. 

Hand  in  hand,  we  went,  my  own  love, 

For  a  little  while  ; 
Hand  in  hand,  we'll  sleep,  in  stone,  love, 

In  the  sacred  aisle  : 
Hand  in  hand,  the  trumpet  sounding, 

Saved  through  Christ,  we'll  rise ; 
Hand  in  hand,  through  grace  abounding, 

Soar  beyond  the  skies. 
The  Breakers,  gth  June,  1853. 


HOC  ERAT  IN  VOTIS. 

THIS  was  in  all  my  prayers,  since  first  I  prayed, 
A  parsonage  in  a  sweet  garden's  shade  ; 

1  This  was  written  twelve  years  later ;  the  impression  still  fresh  and  strong. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  129 

The  Church  adjoining  with  its  ivied  tower ; 

A  peal  of  bells  ;  a  clock  to  tell  the  hour ; 

A  rustic  flock  to  feed  from  day  to  day  ; 

And  kneel  with  them,  at  morn  and  eve,  and  pray. 

He,  who  doth  all  things  well,  denied  my  prayer, 
And  bade  me  take  the  apostle's  staff,  and  bear ; 
The  scattered  sheep,  o'er  hill  and  dale,  pursue, 
Tend  the  old  flocks,  and  gather  in  the  new ; 
Count  ease,  and  health,  and  life,  and  all  things,  loss, 
So  I  make  known,  the  blessed,  bleeding  Cross. 

These  quiet  scenes,  that  never  can  be  mine, 
This  home-bred  happiness,  dear  friend,  be  thine  ; 
Each  choicest  gift,  and  influence  from  above, 
Descend  on  thee,  and  all  that  share  thy  love  j 
Peace,  which  the  world  gives  not,  nor  can  destroy, 
The  prelibation  of  eternal  joy. 

North  field  Vicarage,  August  3,  1841. 


.TO  MY  DEAR  WILLIE, 

ON  HIS  TWELFTH  BIRTH-DAY 

MY  second  born,  my  gentle, 
My  sweet  and  precious  boy, 

Sent  to  us,  in  our  darkling  day, 
To  be  our  bosoms'  joy  ; 
17 


130  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

How  like  a  sunbeam,  to  our  hearts, 

Thy  beauty,  in  our  eyes, 
Dispelling  every  cloud,  that  spreads 

Its  sackcloth,  on  the  skies. 

Be  ever  thus,  my  blessing, 

So  patient  and  so  meek  ; 
So  careful  always,  what  to  do, 

So  thoughtful  what  to  speak; 
Till  grown  in  wisdom,  as  in  years, 

Through  His  abounding  grace, 
He  take  thee, —  'tis  my  fondest  prayer  — 

To  fill  a  deacon's  place. 

How  sweet,  should  he  permit  it, 

To  lean  on  thy  stout  arm  ! 
Thy  silver-voiced  litany, 

Mine  ear,  how  it  will  charm  ! 
And,  when  my  days  are  numbered  all, 

And  all  my  labours,  done  ; 
My  death-bed,  with  the  Church's  prayers, 

Console  and  cheer,  my  son  ! 
March  2,  1844. 


"  How  often  little  lucid  intervals   of  the  most  golden  light,  fall  in  upon  our 
path;   as  you  have  seen  it,  through  a  trellised  vine." 

LOOK,  dearest,  how  the  golden  glow, 
Gleams,  through  the  trellised  vine  ; 

Chequering  with  light  and  shade,  the  way, 
Before  thy  feet,  and  mine  : 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  131 

So,  on  our  path  of  parted  life, 

When  clouds  shut  out  the  day, 
Love's  lucid  intervals  fall  in, 

As  here,  the  sunbeams  play. 

And  could  our  linked  and  loving  feet, 

Together,  walk  through  life, 
This  beating  breast,  these  clasping  arms, 

Thy  home,  my  more  than  wife  ; 
How  would  the  clouds,  about  our  path, 

Be  fleckered  with  the  day  ; 
And  gleams  of  love's  own  golden  light, 

Chequer  life's  trellised  way  ! 


THE  SELF-FLOWING. 

"The  grapes  are  collected  late  in  the  season,  and  picked  one  by  one.  The 
juice  runs,  from  its  own  pressure,  over  a  grooved  table,  into  earthen  jars.  The 
quantity  is  small,  and  very  precious.  It  is  called,  Ausbrucb}  the  self-flow- 
ing." 

SWEETEST,  in  the  Rhine-land, 

Famous,  as  a  vine-land, 
When  the  golden  clusters  burst  with  juice, 

They  hang  them  by  the  stems, 

All  gleaming,  there,  like  gems  ; 
To  let  the  luscious,  limpid,  liquor  loose  : 

And  these  sweet,  spontaneous,  streams, 

Every  Rhinelander  still  deems, 
The  choicest,  that  the  vintage  can  produce. 


132  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

So  my  verses,  dearest, 
Sprung  from  love  sincerest, 

Filling  all  my  spirit,  full  of  thee, 
Gushing  out,  like  fountains, 
Down  the  side  of  mountains, 

Flow,  forever  full,  and  fresh,  and  free  ; 
Or  breathe,  like  scent,  from  flowers, 
In  Spring's  first,  dewy,  hours, 

When  violets  and  roses  tempt  the  bee. 


TO  MY  ENGLISH  GOD-SON, 

JAMES  WILLIAM  DOANE  FORSTER,  ON  HIS  BAPTISMAL  DAY. 

GOD'S  blessing  rest  upon  thee, 

My  precious  little  boy  ; 
Make  thee  thy  mother's  comfort  still, 

And  still  thy  father's  joy  ; 
Conduct  thee,  through  life's  pilgrimage, 

In  purity  and  peace  ; 
And  take  thee,  to  that  blessed  world, 

Where  sin  and  sorrow  cease. 

Long  time,  I've  loved  thy  father, 

Thy  gentle  mother,  too ; 
And  tenderest  cords,  have  twined  our  hearts, 

Across  the  waters  blue  ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  133 

And  now,  I  sit  beside  their  hearth, 

An  honoured,  happy  guest, 
And  feel,  how  truly  Christian  home 

Is  type  of  heavenly  rest. 

Dear  child,  how  opportunely, 

Thy  coming  has  been  timed, 
And  providential  orderings, 

With  human  wishes,  chimed  ; 
That  hearts,  which  long  in  unison, 

Have  beat,  beyond  the  sea, 
Should  flow  together,  at  the  font, 

And  blend  themselves,  in  thee. 

Dear  child  of  dearest  parents, 

I  take  thee  to  my  heart, 
To  be,  as  they,  so  long  have  been, 

Its  parcel  and  its  part  ; 
To  grow,  like  sweetest  flower,  beside 

That  sainted  Bishop's  z  tomb. 
And  give,  its  sweetest  memories, 

New  fragrance  and  new  bloom. 

Dear  child,  with  Thornton, 2  Forster,  Jebb 

My  name  is  knit  in  thee, 
All  written  in  that  Blessed  Book, 

One  Christian  family. 

1  Bishop  Jebb,  "  the  good  Bishop  of  Limerick."  Mr.  Forster  was  his  Do- 
mestic Chaplain,  and  his  "  own  familiar  friend." 

aThe  excellent  Henry  Thornton,  M.P.,  his  maternal  grandfather  j  Miss 
Isabella  Thornton  was  a  god-mother. 


134  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

So  when  the  dead  shall  all  come  forth, 

At  that  clear  trumpet's  sound, 
May  each  dear  name,  recorded  in 

The  Lamb's  own  Book,  be  found. 
Stisted  Rectory )  August  15,  1841.  • 


BATTERSEA  RISE. 

THE  THORNTON  FAMILY  RESIDENCE,  CLAPHAM  COMMON. 

OLD  house,  how  long  Pve  known  thee, 

By  high,  historic  fame, 
By  Thornton,  Inglis,  Wilberforce,1 

Each  loved  and  sainted  name  ; 
And  now,  my  pilgrim  feet  have  trod 

Thy  consecrated  ground, 
And  underneath  thy  sacred  roof, 

A  pilgrim's  rest,  have  found. 

1  Battersea  Rise,  Clapham  Common,  a  few  miles  from  London,  was  the  re- 
sidence" of  the  late  Henry  Thornton,  Esq.  M.P.  At  his  death,  it  became  the 
residence  of  his  friend,  and  the  faithful  guardian  of  his  children,  Sir  R.  H. 
Inglis,  Bart.,  M.P.  It  is  now  occupied  by  the  eldest  son,  Henry  Sykes  Thorn- 
ton, Esq.,  and  his  family.  In  this  House,  Mr.  Wilberforce  wrote  his  "  Prac- 
tical View."  Sir  Robert  Inglis'  edition  of  Mr.  Thornton's  Family  Prayers, 
bears  date  from  this  house.  It  was  the  resort,  besides  these,  of  Hannah  More, 
the  Grants,  the  Bowdlers,  Macaulay,  Babington.  The  excellent  Dr.  Dealtry  is 
the  rector  of  Clapham.  The  late  Rev.  Charles  Thornton,  who  translated  S. 
Cyprian's  Treatises,  for  the  Library  of  the  Fathers,  at  Oxford,  was  the  son  of 
Mr.  Henry  Thornton. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  135 

Home  of  each  heart-attraction, 

Of  manly  piety, 
Of  lovely  woman's  gentleness, 

Of  childhood's  artless  glee  ; 
A  tenderer  tie,  than  history,  now 

Shall  hold  thee,  to  my  heart, 
And  make  thy  blessed  memory, 

Of  every  pulse,  a  part. 

My  children  shall  be  told  of  thee, 

And  every  dearest  name, 
In  every  murmured  orison, 

Their  lips,  shall  learn  to  frame  ; 
And  fervent  prayers,  shall  daily  rise, 

From  far  beyond  the  sea, 
That  God,  His  blessings,  still  may  pour, 

Sweet  Christian  home,  on  thee  ! 

Batter  sea  Rise^  August  20,  1841. 


MY  BEST  OF  BLESSINGS. 

MY  best  of  blessings,  when  from  thee, 

I  turn  my  feet,  away, 
My  heart  dies  down,  as  children's  do, 

From  hearth  and  home  who  stray  ; 
The  heart,  that  fears  no  face  of  man, 

Nor  shrinks,  from  shape  of  ill, 
All  melted,  like  a  weaned  child's, 

Is  swayed,  at  thy  sweet  will. 


136  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Upon  the  stern  and  stormy  sea, 

When  tempests  foam  and  frown, 
The  gentle  moon,  serene  and  still, 

In  loveliness,  looks  down  : 
Silent  and  sweet,  her  tender  eye 

The  heaving  mass  controls, 
And  the  whole  world  of  water  sleeps, 

Till  not  a  ripple  rolls. 

My  best  of  blessings,  in  my  heart, 

Subdued,  to  love  and  thee, 
Thy  gentle  beauty  sinks,  as  soft 

As  moonlight,  in  the  sea: 
Its  waves  and  billows  heave  no  more, 

Its  storms  and  tempests  cease  : 
And  all  its  troubled  depths  are  lulled, 

In  placidness,  and  peace. 


THE  CATHOLIC'S  ASSERTION  OF 
THE  CROSS. 

God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  Cross  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

Gal.  *vi.  14. 

"  We  do  sign  him  with  the  sign  of  the  Cross." —  Baptismal  Office. 

LIFT  up  the  Cross,  lift  up  the  Cross ! 

Let  it  surmount  each  loftiest  spire, 
And  beam,  the  beacon  of  the  world, 

To  warn  it,  from  eternal  fire. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  137 

Lift  up  the  Cross,  lift  up  the  Cross  ! 

Let  every  eye  the  token  see, 
And  look,  through  it,  to  Him,  Whose  blood 

Streamed,  for  them,  from  the  atoning  Tree. 

Lift  up  the  Cross  !  Through  all  the  storms 

Of  more  than  eighteen  hundred  years, 
Its  changeless  beauty,  clear  and  calm, 

The  radiant  signature  uprears  ; 
Unharmed  it  stands,  undimmed  it  shines, 

And  sheds  its  glory,  near  and  far  ; 
God's  pillar-light,  to  guide  His  Church, 

Salvation's  u  bright  and  morning  star." 

Lift  up  the  Cross  !  Rome  shall  not  have 

Our  birthright,  in  that  blessed  sign : 
We  still  will  bear  it,  on  the  brow, 

We  still  will  rear  it  on  the  shrine. 
So  that  be  ours,  and  we  be  His, 

All  other  things,  we  count  u  but  loss  j" 
Our  single  hope,  the  Crucified, 

And  all  our  glory,  in  the  Cross. 

River  side  ^  Tuesday  in  Easter  Week,  1843. 


TO  A  MOURNING  MOTHER. 

MOTHER  weep  !  the  heart  is  flesh  ; 
Wounds  will  bleed  while  they  are  fresh  ; 
18 


138  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Gentlest  hands,  the  flower,  may  crop ; 
Tears  will  trickle,  drop  by  drop. 

Yet,  weep  not !  that  darling  child, 
Like  a  bird,  as  sweet  and  wild, 
Has  but  winged  her  winter  flight, 
To  the  land  of  life  and  light. 

There,  she  builds  her  blessed  nest, 
In  the  gentle  Saviour's  breast  ; 
While,  that  flute-like  voice,  she  tries, 
In  celestial  symphonies. 

Mothers'  tears  lie  near  the  lid  ; 
Mothers'  tears  can  not  be  hid  j 
This,  the  thought,  to  dry  their  eyes — 
One  more  song,  in  Paradise  ! 


TO  MY  HEART. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  SAVONAROLA. 

MY  heart,  if  thou  at  peace  wilt  be, 
Thou  canst  no  longer,  live  with  me ; 
Fly  to  Jesus,  there  to  stay, 
From  this  false  world,  far  away  ; 
Favour  here,  can  only  be, 
At  the  cost  of  treachery. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

While  on  earth,  thou  art  with  me, 
Bitter  all  thy  life  must  be. 
Faith  and  peace,  are  fled  afar ; 
Everywhere,  there  is  but  war. 
If  thy  life  is  dear  to  thee, 
To  the  light  of  Jesus,  flee. 


139 


COME  WHEN  THOU  WILT. 

COME,  in  the  sun-glint,  or  come,  in  the  shower; 
Come,  with  the  snow-flake,  or  come,  with  the  flower ; 
Come,  when  thou  wilt,  thou  art  welcome  to  me, 
As  the  fragrance  of  Spring,  to  the  scent  of  the  bee. 

Come,  at  the  dawn  of  day,  come,  at  its  close  ; 
Come  with  the  violet,  come  with  the  rose : 
Come  when  thou  wilt,  thou  art  fair,  to  my  eye, 
As  the  first  star  of  evening,  that  flames  from  the  sky. 

Come,  at  the  noon-tide,  or  come  in  the  night  ; 

Come,  when  the  skies  are  black,  come,  when  they're  bright 

Come,  when  thou  wilt,  thou  art  dear  to  my  heart, 

As  the  streams  of  red  life,  from  its  fountain,  that  start. 

Come,  in  the  Winter,  or  come,  in  the  Spring  ; 
Come,  when  the  birds  are  still,  come,  when  they  sing  ; 
Come,  when  thou  wilt,  and  thy  coming  shall  be, 
For  beauty,  for  balm,  and  for  blessing,  to  me. 


14°  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

TO   MY  WIFE. 

WITH  AN  ILLUSTRATED  COPY,  OF  "THE  BABES  IN   THE  WOOD. 

DEAR,  when  you  and  I  were  young, 
How  delightedly,  we  hung 

On  this  little  story  : 
Still  its  simple  beauty  charms 
Every  age  ;   the  babe  in  arms, 

Maids,  and  matrons  hoary. 
This  the  lesson  :  truth  and  nature, 

Everywhere,  alike  prevail  ; 
Love  and  beauty  are  immortal, 

Trust  in  God  can  never  fail. 

Riverside,  Eve  of  the  Circumcision,  1848. 


GLEAMS  OF  SUNSHINE  IN  A  DARKENED 
ROOM. 

MORNING. 

**  Joy  cometh  in  the  morning." 

O,  COME  with  blessings,  new-born  day, 

To  all,  my  soul  holds  dear  ; 
Or,  bring  the  grace  that  crowns  them  all, 

To  die  without  a  fear  ! 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

• 

NOON. 

"  Never  give  up." 

"  Never  give  up  !"     It  can  be  of  no  use, 

Tugging  and  trying,  may  bring  something  round  again. 
Bread,  that  is  cast  on  the  waters,  profuse, 

Scripture  hath  told  us,  shall  surely  be  found  again. 

"  Never  give  up  !"     We  can  make  nothing  by  it, 

'Tis  but  to  die,  when  the  breath  has  gone  out  from  us. 

While  the  last  moment  lasts,  take  it,  and  try  it. 

"  God  for  the  right  !"  will  dispel  every  doubt  from  us. 


EVENING. 
"Light  is  sown,  for  the  righteous." 

Night  closes  in  :  but,  to  the  just, 

The  light  of  God  is  sown  ; 
As  seeds,  upon  the  furrowed  field, 

In  opening  Spring,  are  strown. 

Through  cold,  through  heat,  through  calm,  through  storm, 

It  works  its  steadfast  way  ; 
And,  at  the  harvest-time,  breaks  forth, 

In  floods  of  golden  day. 
Riverside,  November,  1848. 


142  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


THE  SAILOR'S  HOME. 

The  Floating1  Church  of  the  Redeemer,  for  Sailors  and  Boatmen  ;  built  at  Bor- 
dentown,  New  Jersey;  and  to  be  moored  at  a  wharf  in  Philadelphia.  The 
seats  are  all  to  be  free. 

THE  Jersey  woods  are  tall  and  green, 
The  Jersey  mines  are  broad  and  deep, 
And  cool  and  pure,  the  sparkling  streams, 
That,  down  the  Jersey  mountains,  leap. 

Search  out,  from  all  the  Jersey  woods, 
The  sturdiest  oaks,  the  loftiest  pines  ; 
And  gather  in  the  choicest  ore, 
That  deepest  lies,  in  Jersey  mines. 

And,  where  the  Jersey  mountain  streams 
Fill  the  deep  rolling  Delaware, 
Lay,  broad  and  strong,  the  Christian  keel, 
And  fasten  every  plank,  with  prayer. 

Complete  the  sacred  structure  stands, 
And  towers,  majestic,  from  the  wave  : 
A  floating  Church,  a  Christian  ark  ; 
The  sailor's  soul,  from  sin,  to  save. 

Float  gently  down,  thou  blessed  bark, 
To  Philadelphia's  ship-lined  shore  ; 
And  moored  'long  side  her  teeming  wharves, 
Unfold  the  Gospel's  sacred  store. 

1  Now  St.  John's  Church,  Camden,  N.  J. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  143 

Show,  from  the  topmast's  tallest  peak, 
The  great  Redeemer's  glorious  name ; 
Display  the  blessed,  bleeding  Cross  ; 
Its  love,  its  agony,  its  shame. 

Proclaim  the  life-restoring  Word  ; 
Pour  all  the  energy  of  prayer ; 
Sprinkle  the  blest  baptismal  wave ; 
The  Bread,  the  Wine,  of  life,  prepare. 

Arrest  the  .thoughtless,  check  the  rash, 
Win  home  the  wanderer,  from  his  ways  ; 
The  broken-hearted,  bind  with  balm, 
And  fill  the  penitent  with  praise. 

Like  clouds  that  scud  before  the  storm, 
Like  doves  that  to  their  windows  come  ; 
Crowd,  brothers,  to  the  floating  Cross, 
And  find  the  Church,  the  Sailor's  Home. 
Riverside,  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  1848. 


THE  CHILD  AT  PRAYER. 

A  CAST  FROM  GREENOUGH. 

CHILD  that  kneelest  meekly  there, 
Pouring  all  thy  soul  in  prayer, 
Would  that  I  might  be  like  thee, 
In  unreserving  piety  ! 


144  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Such  as  thou,  did  Jesus  take, 
Model  for  mankind,  to  make  ; 
Such  as  thou,  in  guileless  love, 
Nursling  of  the  Heavenly  Dove. 

Oh,  that  while  on  thee,  I  gaze, 
I  might  learn  thy  blessed  ways  ; 
All  thy  confidence  of  heart, 
All  thine  innocence  of  art  ! 

Saviour,  once  Thyself  a  child, 
Good  and  gentle,  meek  and  mild, 
Make  me  such  as  this  to  be ; 
Reproduce  Thyself,  in  me  ! 


THE  BANNER  OF  THE  CROSS. 

FLING  out  the  Banner  !  Let  it  float, 

Sky-ward,  and  sea-ward,  high  and  wide  ; 

The  sun,  that  lights  its  shining  folds, 
The  Cross,  on  which,  the  Saviour  died. 

Fling  out  the  Banner  !  Angels  bend, 
In  anxious  silence,  o'er  the  sign  ; 

And  vainly  seek  to  comprehend 
The  wonder  of  the  love  divine. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  145 

Fling  out  the  Banner  !   Heathen  lands 
Shall  see,  from  far,  the  glorious  sight, 

And  nations,  crowding  to  be  born, 
Baptize  their  spirits  in  its  light. 

Fling  out  the  Banner  !   Sin-sick  souls, 
That  sink  and  perish  in  the  strife, 

Shall  touch,  in  faith,  its  radiant  hem, 
And  spring,  immortal,  into  life. 

Fling  out  the  Banner  !  Let  it  float, 

Sky-ward,  and  sea-ward,  high  and  wide  ; 

Our  glory,  only  in  the  Cross  ; 
Our  only  hope,  the  Crucified. 

Fling  out  the  Banner  !  Wide  and  high, 
Sea-ward  and  sky-ward,  let  it  shine : 

Nor  skill,  nor  might,  nor  merit,  ours ; 

We  conquer  only  in  that  sign. 
Riverside,  id  Sunday  in  Advent,  1848. 


WALL  FLOWERS. 

"  They  smell  sweetest  by  night-time,  thae  flowers  ;  and  they're  maist  aye 
seen  about  ruined  buildings.  "  —  EDIE  OCHILTREE,  in  the  Antiquary. 

Sweetest  by  night :  like  gracious  words, 

That  scent  the  sacred  page  ; 
But  freeliest  pour  their  perfumed  store, 

In  sickness,  grief,  and  age. 
19 


146  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Seen  most  by  ruins  :  like  the  love, 
That  gave  itself  for  all  ; 

Yet  closest  clings  to  guiltiest  things, 
As  Magdalene,  or  Saul. 

Riverside,  December,  1848. 


RASPBERRY  VINEGAR,  WITH  ICED  WATER, 

IN  EXTREME  ILLNESS. 

BREATH  of  Summer,  how  I  feel  you, 

As  you  play  about  my  brow  ; 
Wings  of  damask  roses  fan  me, 

Through  that  bed  of  violets,  now. 

Smell  of  blossom  ;  taste  of  berry  j 
Sound  of  brooklet  ;  flash  of  bird  : 

All  the  memories  of  my  boyhood 
Have,  in  turn,  my  bosom  stirr'd. 

Hand,  That  holds  me  ;   Eye,  That  guides  me; 

Heart,  That  loved  me,  to  the  death  : 
New  devotion  thrills  my  spirit, 

While  I  breathe  this  summer  breath  ! 

Riverside,  January  29,  1849. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY,  147 


MALLEUS  DOMINI. 

Is  not   My  word,  saith  the  Lord,  like  a  hammer  that   breaketh  the  rock   in 
pieces?" — Jeremiah  xxiii,  2,9. 

Sledge  of  the  Lord,  beneath  whose  stroke, 
The  rocks  are  rent,  the  heart  is  broke, 
I  hear  thy  pond'rous  echoes  ring, 
And  fall  a  crushed  and  crumbled  thing. 

Meekly  these  mercies  I  implore, 

Through  Him  Whose  Cross,  our  sorrows,  bore  ; 

On  earth,  Thy  new-creating  grace  ; 

In  heaven,  the  very  lowest  place. 

Oh,  might  I  be  a  living  stone, 
Set  in  the  pavement  of  Thy  throne  ; 
For  sinner  saved,  what  place  so  meet, 
As,  at  the  Saviour's  bleeding  feet. 

Riverside,  September  19,  1849. 


AN  ANSWER. 

You  asked  me  once  my  dearest, 
Why  infants  ever  die, 

And  when  I  could  not  answer 
You  sweetly,  told  me  why  — 


148  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

That  so,  in  heaven,  those  loveliest  things 
Of  earth,  we  might  not  miss  ; 

The  radiance  of  an  infant's  smile, 
The  fragrance  of  its  kiss. 


"SWEET  FROM  THE  RAIN." 

"  The  violets  are  sweet,  from  the  rain,  this  morning,"  my  gardener  said,  "  I 
let  it  in  upon  them.  " 

"  SWEET  from  the  rain  :  "  the  scentless  shower 

Upon  the  earth  descends  ; 
And  all  Arabia,  in  the  flower, 

Its  thousand  odours,  blends. 

"  Sweet  from  the  rain  :  "  so  human  hearts 

Grow  tender,  after  tears  ; 
And  sorrow,  sanctified,  imparts 

The  peace  of  happier  spheres. 

"  Sweet  from  the  rain  :  "  beloved,  so 

Thy  kindness  soothes  my  heart  ; 
And  joys,  I  thought  no  more  to  know, 

Their  sympathies  impart. 

"  Sweet  from  the  rain  :  "  the  heavenly  grace, 

On  sinful  souls,  is  poured  ; 
And  from  the  lost  and  guilty  race, 

Rise  praises,  to  the  Lord. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  149 


ST.  IGNATIUS  TO  ST.  POLYCARP,  BOTH  MARTYRS. 

"  STAND,  like  an  anvil,  "  when  the  stroke, 
Of  stalwart  men,  falls  fierce  and  fast  ; 

Storms,  but  more  deeply,  root  the  oak, 
Whose  brawny  arms  embrace  the  blast. 

"  Stand  like  an  anvil,  "  when  the  sparks 
Fly  far  and  wide,  a  fiery  shower  ; 

Virtue  and  truth  must  still  be  marks, 
Where  malice  proves  its  want  of  power. 

"  Stand  like  an  anvil,"  when  the  bar, 
Lies,  red  and  glowing,  on  its  breast  ; 

Duty  shall  be  life's  leading  star, 
And  conscious  innocence,  its  rest. 

ct  Stand  like  an  anvil,"  when  the  sound 
Of  ponderous  hammers  pains  the  ear  ; 

Thine,  but  the  still  and  stern  rebound 
Of  the  great  heart,  that  cannot  fear. 

"  Stand  like  an  anvil  ;  "  noise  and  heat 
Are  born  of  earth,  and  die  with  time  ; 

The  soul,  like  God,  its  source  and  seat, 
Is  solemn,  still,  serene,  sublime. 

Riverside,  St.  Barnabas  Day,  1849. 


15O  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

DE  'GULIELMO  MEO,  MORTUO,  SUSPIRIUM. 

"  Ah,  my  brother  !  " 

ALAS  !  how  life  divides  itself, 
The  Left  and  the  Departed  ; 

Like  funeral  files,  in  double  row, 
The  Dead,  the  Broken-Hearted  ! 


A  DAISY, 

FROM  MY  ENGLISH  GOD-SON. 

WHY  should  this  little  withered  flower, 

So  scentless,  pale,  and  dry, 
Be  dearer  than  the  garden's  pride, 

That  captivates  the  eye  ? 

It  has  a  beauty  for  the  mind, 

A  fragrance  for  the  heart, 
Which  time  can  no  more  dissipate, 

Than  Nature  could  impart. 

A  precious  little  English  boy, 

My  own  baptismal  child, 
An  English  daisy  sent  to  me, 

Across  the  waters  wild. 


William  Croswell. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

And  English  homes  and  English  hearts, 
Through  memory's  magic  power, 

And  all  the  blessed  English  Church, 
Live  in  that  little  flower. 

Riverside,  St.  Matthew's  Day,  1849. 


THE  OLD  MAN  OF  VERONA, 

WHO  HAD  NEVER  BEEN    BEYOND  THE   SUBURBS, 
From  the  Latin  of  Claudian  Epigram  ii. 

"  Oh  felice  che  mai  non  pose  il  piede 
Fuori  della  natia  sua  dolce  terra  j 
Egli  il  cor  non  lascio  fitto  in  oggetti 
Che  di  piu  riveder  on  ha  speranza, 
E  cio,  che  vive  ancor,  morto,  non  piange."1 

Pindemonte. 

HAPPY  the  man,  who  spends  his  life,  'mid  his  paternal  fields  : 
The  roof  which  saw  him  cradled,  to  his  age  its  shelter  yields  ; 
And,  where  he  crawled  in  infancy,  he  now,  with  stafFin  hand, 
Scores  the  long  tally  of  his  years,  upon  the  sunny  sand. 

xHappy  the  man  who  never  roved 
Beyond  his  native  land,  beloved  ; 
Whose  heart  is  knit  by  no  sad  chain 
To  those,  he  ne'er  shall  see  again, 
Nor  weeps  the  living,  as  the  dead,  and  knows  he  weeps  in  vain. 

G.  tr.  D. 


152  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Not  him  with  strange  vicissitudes,  has  fortune  drawn  away, 
Nor  love  of  change  e'er  tempted  him,  by  distant  wave  to 

stray. 

No  trader  trembling  on  the  sea,  no  soldier  at  the  drum, 
No  lawyer,  hoarse  and  weary,  with  the  forum's  ceaseless 

hum, 

No  quidnunc,  he  :x  the  nearest  town,  he  never  yet  has  seen  ; 
Too  happy  in  his  broad  expanse  of  heaven,  no  wall  between. 
The  years  he  reckons,  not  by  kings,  but  by  the  crops  they 

bring  ; 
He  names  each  autumn,  from  its  fruits,  and  from  its  flowers 

each  spring.2 
The  plain,  which  hides  his  setting  sun,  brings  back  its  rising 

light, 
And  all  the  world  he  knows,  is  that,  which   circles  in  his 

sight. 
He  well  remembers  each  tall  oak,  since  scarce  it  reached 

his  knee, 

And  sees  the  whole  coaeval  wood,  grow  old,  as  fast  as  he. 
Neighb'ring  Verona  farther  seems,  than  India's  sunburnt 

strand, 

And  Lake  Benacus  is  to  him,  the  Red  Sea,  near  at  hand. 
With  vigour,  all  unbroken,  and  with  shoulders  broad  and 

square, 
His  three  times  thirty  years,  still  find  him  "  none  the  worse 

for  wear." 

1  "  Indocilis  rerum;"  a  man  that  does  not  read  the  papers.  "  Quidnunc?" — 
«  What  news  ?" 

a  As  we  say,  "  the  last  peach  year-"  "  this  will  be  an  apple  year  ,•"  "  a  fine 
dahlia  season." 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  153 

"  Some  love  to  roam  ;"  remotest  Spain  they  seek,  in  strolling 

strife  : 
They  "  see  the  world,"  perhaps  ;  but  he  has  much  the  most 

of  life. 


1850 — 1859. 
LITTLE  MARY'S  GRAVE. 

BORN,  AUGUST  18,  l8}8,  DIED,  JAN.  13,  1844. 

IT  was  a  sweet  autumnal  day ; 
The  rustling  leaves,  around  me  lay  ; 
The  landscape,  bathed  in  golden  light, 
As  heaven  itself,  was  fair  and  bright. 

I  waited  for  a  funeral  train  : 
And,  sauntering  through  the  Church-yard  lane, 
My  thoughtful  feet,  instinctive,  strayed, 
To  where  a  darling  child  was  laid. 
Sweet  Mary  !   I  remember  Veil, 
How  like  a  blessing,  first,  she  fell ; 
And  on  a  joyous  summer  day, 
Sweet  flower,  sweet  bud,  together  lay. 
And,  well  do  I  remember,  too, 
When  wintry  winds  around  us,  blew, 
20 


154  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

We  bore  our  summer  bud,  away, 
Its  sweetness,,  in  the  snow,  to  lay. 
She  was  a  most  attractive  child  : 
So  gay,  so  free,  so  meek,  so  mild  ; 
A  lovely,  little,  loving  thing, 
Among  the  heart-strings,  made  to  cling. 
Her  childish  fancy  took  to  me  : 
She  loved  to  hang  upon  my  knee  ; 
And  win,  with  many  an  artless  wile, 
The  kiss  that  crowned  the  sunny  smile. 
I  hear  her  flute-like  accents,  now, 
I  see  the  beaming,  on  her  brow, 
As  from  her  little  door-way  seat, 
She  hailed,  with  glee,  my  passing  feet, 
As  bright  and  glad,  as  any  bird, 
Could  she  but  win  one  kindly  word. 

Sweet  Mary,  years  have  come,  and  gone, 
Since  last  I  heard  thy  loving  tone  ; 
And  time,  and  toil,  and  care,  have  shed 
The  snows  of  winter,  on  my  head  : 
Yet,  while  I  stand,  beside  thee,  here, 
And  brush  away  the  starting  tear, 
I  hear,  again,  thy  bird-like  voice, 
And,  in  thy  childish  love,  rejoice. 

Sweet  Mary,  thou  art,  now,  with  God  ! 

We  linger,  yet,  along  the  road  : 

Oh  !  that  the  echoes  of  thy  speech, 

Our  struggling  hearts,  from  heaven,  might  reach 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  155 

To  win  us,  from  the  things  of  earth, 
To  thoughts  and  themes,  of  holier  birth  ; 
To  teach  us,  to  count  all  things  loss  ; 
For  His  dear  sake,  who  bore  the  Cross  : 
That,  all  who  loved  thee,  here,  may  be, 
Through  Him,  at  last,  in  Heaven,  with  thee  ! 
1850. 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT. 

"  Out  of  Egypt  have  I  called  My  Son." 

MAIDEN  mother,  meek  and  mild, 
Cherishing  that  cherub  Child, 
Why,  through  wild  and  weary  way, 
Should  thy  feeble  footsteps  stray  ? 

Herod  seeks  the  Loved  One's  life  ; 
Glitters  now  the  murderous  knife  ; 
Ramah,  reeking  lies,  and  red  ; 
Rachel  weeps  her  children,  dead. 

Maiden  mother,  meek  and  mild, 
Fear  not  for  thy  cherub  Child  : 
Through  the  wild  and  weary  way, 
Angel  squadrons,  with  thee  stay. 


156  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Hear  what  God,  the  Lord,  hath  done  ; 
"  Out  of  Egypt,"  called  His  Son  ; 
Nailed  Him  to  the  atoning  Tree ; 
Giv'n  Him  there,  the  victory. 

Riverside,  First  Sunday  after  Epiphany,  1850. 


THE  MOTHER,  AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  HER 
CHILD. 

OUR  little  Mary  is  not  dead  ;  but,  sweetly  gone  before, 
She  waits,  to  win,  and  welcome  us,  upon  that  happy  shore  ; 
To  win  us,  with  the  memories,  that  linger,  of  her  love  ; 
And  welcome  us,  to  share,  with  her,  the  blessedness,  above. 

She  is  our  little  Mary,  still,  and  never  can  grow  old  ; 

As  young,  as  when  the  angel  came,  and  took  her,  from  our 

fold; 

Made  like  unto  the  Mary-born,  the  only  Undefiled, 
She  lives,  in  heaven's  unchanging  youth,  our  own  immortal 

child. 

Our  dear  ones,  all,  are  growing  up  in  beauty  and  in  grace  ; 
In  manhood,  and  in  womanhood,  to  fill,  please  God,  their 

place  ; 

But,  whatsoever  He  may  take,  of  all,  that  He  has  given, 
One  gift  of  His,  we  cannot  lose,  our  little  one  in  heaven. 

Riverside,  January  13,    1851. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  157 


FICUS  RELIGIOSA.1 

THE  Banyan  of  the  Indian  Isles, 

Strikes  deeply  down,  its  massive  root  j 
And  spreads  its  branching  life,  abroad, 

And  bends,  to  earth,  with  scarlet  fruit: 
And,  when  the  branches  reach  the  ground, 

They  firmly  plant  themselves,  again  : 
Then  rise,  and  spread,  and  drop,  and  root  ; 

An  ever  green,  and  endless,  chain. 

And,  so,  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ, 

The  blessed  Banyan  of  our  God, 
Fast  rooted,  upon  Sion's  Mount, 

Has  sent  its  sheltering  arms,  abroad  ; 
And  every  branch,  that,  from  it,  springs, 

In  sacred  beauty,  spreading  wide, 
As,  low,  it  bends,  to  bless  the  earth, 

Still,  plants  another,  by  its  side. 

Long,  as  the  world,  itself,  shall  last, 

The  sacred  Banyan,  still,  shall  spread  ; 
From  clime  to  clime,  from  age  to  age, 

Its  sheltering  shadow  shall  be  shed  ; 
Nations  shall  seek  its  "  pillared  shade," 

Its  leaves  shall,  for  their  healing,  be : 
The  circling  flood,  that  feeds  its  life, 

The  blood,  that  crimsoned  Calvary. 
Riverside,  id  Sunday  ajter  Easter,  1851. 

x  Written  for  the  third  Jubilee  of  the  Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel. 


158  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


WILLIAM  CROSWELL, 

POET,  PASTOR,  PRIEST. 
ENTERED  INTO  LIFE,  SUNDAY  9  NOVEMBER,  21  AFTER  TRINITY,  1851. 

I  DID  not  think  to  number  thee,  my  Croswell,  with  the 

dead, 

But  counted  on  thy  loving  lips,  to  soothe  my  dying  bed  j 
To  watch  the  fluttering  flood  of  life,  ebb  languidly  away, 
And  point  my  spirit,  to  the  gate,  that  opens  into  day. 

My  "  more  than  brother  "  thou  hast   been,  for  five   and 

twenty  years, 
In  storm  and  shine,  in  grief  and  joy,  alike  in  smiles  and 

tears  ; 

Our  twin-born  hearts,  so  perfectly  incorporate  in  one, 
That  not  the  shadow  of  a  thought,  e'er  marred  their  unison. 

Beside  me,  in  life's  highest  noon,  to  hear  the  bridegroom's 

voice, 

Thy  loving  nature  fondly  stood,  contented  to  rejoice  ; 
Nor  boon,  that  ever  bounteous  Heaven  bestowed  on  me, 

or  mine, 
But  bore  for  thee,  a  keener  joy,  than  if  it  had  been  thine. 

Thy  fingers,  at  the  sacred  font,  when  God  my  hearth  had 
blessed, 

Upon  my  first-born's  brow,  the  dear  baptismal  sign,  im- 
pressed ; 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  159 

My  second-born,  thine  own  in  Christ,  our  loving  names  to 

blend, 
And    knit,  for  life,   his    father's  son,  in  with  his  father's 

friend. 

And  when  our  patriarchal  White,  with  apostolic  hands, 

Committed  to  my  trembling  trust  the  Saviour's  dread  com- 
mands, 

Thy  manly  form,  and  saintly  face,  were  at  my  side 
again  — 

Thy  voice,  a  trumpet  to  my  heart,  in  its  sincere  Amen  ! 

Beside    thee    once    again,    be    mine,    accepted    priest,    to 

stand, 
And   take,   with    thee,  the  pastoral  palm,  from   that  dear 

Shepherd's  hand  ; 
As  thou  hast  followed  Him,  be  mine,  in  love,  to  follow 

thee, 
Nor  care,  how  soon  my  course  be  run  ;  so  thine,  my  rest 

may  be. 

O  beautiful  and  glorious  death  1  with  all  thy  armour  on  ; 
While,  Stephen-like,  thy  placid  face,  out,  like  an  angel's 

shone. 
The  words  of  blessing  on  thy  lips,  had  scarcely  ceased  to 

sound,1 
Before   thy    gentle  soul,  with   them,  its   resting   place  had 

found. 

1  Unable  to  rise  after  the  closing  collect,  he  said  the  benediction  on  his  knees. 
He  died  in  two  hours.     A  blood  vessel  was  ruptured  in  his  brain. 


l6o  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

O  pastoral  and  priestly  death  !  poetic  as  thy  life — 

A  little  child   to   shelter,   in   Christ's   fold,   from  sin  and 

strife  ; x 
Then,  by  the  gate,  that  opens  through  the  cross,  for  such 

as  she, 
To  enter  in  thyself,  with  Christ,  forevermore  to  be  ! 

Riverside,  November  10,  1851. 


ROBIN  REDBREAST. 

I  have,  somewhere,  met  with  an  old  legend,  that  a  robin,  hovering  about  the 
Cross,  bore  off  a  thorn,  from  our  dear  Saviour's  crown  j  and  dyed  his  bosom 
with  the  blood  j  and,  that,  from  that  time,  robins  have  been  the  friends  of 


SWEET  Robin,  I  have  heard  them  say, 
That  thou  wert  there,  upon  the  day, 
The  Christ  was  crowned,  in  cruel  scorn  ; 
And  bore  away,  one  bleeding  thorn  : 
That,  so,  the  blush,  upon  thy  breast, 
In  shameful  sorrow,  was  impressed  ; 
And,  thence,  thy  genial  sympathy, 
With  our  redeemed  humanity. 

Sweet  Robin,  would  that  I  might  be, 
Bathed,  in  my  Saviour's  blood,  like  thee  ; 

1  He  had  just  baptized  an  infant ;   and  his  sermon  was  addressed  to  children. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  l6l 

Bear,  in  my  breast,  whate'er  the  loss, 
The  bleeding  blazon  of  the  Cross  j 
Live,  ever,  with  thy  loving  mind, 
In  fellowship,  with  human  kind  ; 
And  take  my  pattern,  still,  from  thee, 
In  gentleness,  and  constancy. 

Riverside,  Conversion  of  St.  Paul,  1852. 


SARAH  WALLACE  GERMAIN, 

DIED  AT  ST.  MARY'S  HALL,  ON  THE  EVE  OF  THE  HOLY  INNOCENTS,  1851 
IN  THE  I5TH  YEAR  OF  HER  AGE. 

"  These  are  they  which  follow  the  Lamb,  whithersoever  He  goeth.  " 

WEEP  not  for  her,  the  dear  lamb  we  have  folded, 

Safe  from  the  serpent,  secure  from  the  bear ; 
Gone  to  the  source,  where  her  being  was  moulded, 

She  recks  not  of  sorrow,  and  dreams  not  of  care. 
Through  the  green  pastures,  with  skies  ever  vernal, 

By  the  still  waters,  her  footsteps  now  rove  ; 
Led  by  the  Shepherd,  whose  name  is  Eternal, 

Her  loveliness  lives  in  the  light  of  His  love. 

Weep  not  for  her,  the  dear  lamb  we  have  folded, 
Though  sadly  we  miss  her,  from  out  our  fond  arms  ; 

Just  when  her  young  life  had  sweetly  unfolded, 

And  ours  seemed  renewed,  in  the  life  of  her  charms. 
21 


I  62  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Here,  for  a  while  she  has  left  us  behind  her, 
To  wander  and  wait,  on  life's  desolate  shore  j 

There,  through  the  Cross,  we  shall  certainly  find  her, 
And  with  her,  the  lambling  we  folded  before. 


THE  CROSS; 

FRAMED  IN  THE  DOOR  WHICH  FRONTED  MY  SICK  BED. 

IN  HOC  SIGNO. 
WRITTEN  WITH  MY  CROSWELI/S  PENCIL. 

THAT  blessed  Cross  —  I  bend  mine  eyes, 
On  its  atoning  sacrifice  ; 
And  find  forgiveness,  from  my  God, 
In  its  divine,  redeeming,  blood. 

That  blessed  Cross  —  I  tear  my  heart, 
To  make  it,  of  myself  a  part  ; 
And  gain  no  shelter,  from  my  sin, 
Till  Christ  be  crucified,  within. 

That  blessed  Cross  —  I  bow  my  life, 
To  bear  its  pain,  its  load,  its  strife  ; 
The  way  that  leads  me  to  my  God, 
The  bleeding  path  my  Saviour  trod. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  163 

That  blessed  Cross,  that  blessed  Cross, 
Welcome,  its  wounds,  its  shame,  its  loss, 
My  hope,  my  help,  my  victory  — 
My  Maker  bore  that  Cross  for  me  ! 

Newark,  October  24,  1852. 


THE  BAPTISM  OF  TEARS. 

TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER    TRINITY,  AUGUST  15,  l8oz. 
"  They  that  sow  in  tears,  shall  reap  in  joy." 

THE  lovely  day  had  passed  away, 

Its  stillness,  on  the  landscape  lay  ; 

A  summer  sunset's  lingering  rays 

Still  kept  the  atmosphere,  ablaze  ; 

When,  gathered  in  a  darkened  room, 

Where  light  just  glimmered,  through  the  gloom, 

A  sorrowing  circle,  silent  sate  ; 

Distressed,  but  not  disconsolate. 

But  yesterday,  and  every  grace, 
That  makes  of  home,  a  sacred  place, 
The  comforts,  and  the  charms  of  life, 
That  blend  in  Mother,  and  in  Wife  ; 


164  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

All  that  the  heart  of  man  holds  dear, 

Was  crowned  and  consecrated  here. 

Serene  and  beautiful,  to-day, 

Decked  for  the  dead,  our  darling  lay  ; 

Whose  eye,  whose  soul,  whose  heart,  had  been 

The  charm  of  all  this  sacred  scene  ; 

So  calm,  so  sweet,  our  blessed  dead, 

We  scarce  could  deem  the  spirit  fled. 

Like  infant,  tired,  that  sinks  to  rest, 

At  noon  upon  its  Mother's  breast ; 

Her  score  of  summers  scarcely  done, 

And  yet  her  crown  of  victory  won. 

It  is  her  own,  her  charmed  room, 

This  ante-chamber  of  the  tomb  ; 

Her  Bible  opens,  at  the  day  ; 

The  Book,  that  taught  her  how  to  pray, 

Her  Taylor,  Kempis,  Keble,  lie 

Just  where  she  left  them,  all,  to  die. 

In  western  window's  deep  retreat, 

A  table  stands,  in  order  meet, 

With  linen  cloth,  and  roses  white, 

And  crystal  water,  pure  and  bright. 

The  lingering  beams  of  parting  day, 

Upon  the  trembling  waters  play  ; 

Then  stretching  through  the  glimmering  gloom, 

That  fills  the  still,  and  sacred  room, 

Upon  our  dear  one's  forehead  fall, 

Like  some  celestial  coronal ; 

For  sainted  Mother,  meet  array, 

To  grace  her  babe's  baptismal  day. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  165 

Upon  her  fair  and  pulseless  head, 

His  hand,  the  kneeling  husband  laid  ; 

The  honoured  father  bowed  him  low, 

The  mother's  tears  in  silence  flow, 

From  sisters,  brothers,  loved  ones,  friends, 

The  hushed  and  stifled  sorrow  blends; 

One  heart,  one  voice,  in  faltering  flow, 

Pours  the  low  litany  of  woe, 

"  Thou  gavest,  Thou  hast  taken,  Lord, 

We  bless  Thy  Holy  name  and  Word  !  " 

The  surpliced  Priest,  comes  gliding  in  ; 

The  wave  is  blessed  that  saves  from  sin, 

It  sparkles  on  an  infant's  brow. 

The  child  of  grace  and  glory,  now, 

The  Mother's  blessed  name  is  given, 

That  one  may  serve  for  both,  in  Heaven  ; 

The  cross  is  sealed,  the  pledge  secured, 

The  heritage  of  Heaven,  ensured  ; 

The  Mother's  arms,  the  treasure,  take, 

With  Jesu's  mark,  impressed,  to  nurse  for  Jesu's  sake. 

Scarce  was  the  sacred  service  done, 

And  our  dear  dead  one,  left  alone, 

When  whispering  through  the  waving  trees, 

There  came  a  balmy  western  breeze, 

And  strewed  the  rose-leaves,  fair  and  white, 

Upon  the  water,  pure  and  bright, 

As  if  some  angel  had  been  sent, 

To  certify  the  sacrament  ; 


I  66  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

And  flowers  of  love  and  peace  been  given, 
To  strew  our  darling's  path  to  Heaven ; 
And  way-marks  left  along  the  road, 
To  bring  our  baby,  home  to  God. 

Riverside,  August  22,  1852. 


"  I  HAVE  FOUGHT  WITH  BEASTS  AT 
EPHESUS." 

"  HAVE  fought  with  beasts  !"  oh,  blessed  Paul, 
How  small  were  that,  if  that  were  all  ! 
But  harder  far,  to  fight,  with  men, 
Than  beard  the  lions,  in  their  den  ! 

Men,  who  concert  the  secret  snare, 
To  take  the  guileless,  unaware  ; 
Men,  who,  with  "  bated  breath,"  betray, 
And  hint  the  things,  they  dare  not  say ; 

Men,  who  their  sanctity  proclaim, 
In  libels  on  a  neighbour's  name  ; 
Men,  who  their  nameless  letters  scrawl, 
And  chalk  their  scandal,  on  a  wall ; 

Men,  who  will  sit  and  eat  your  bread, 
Then,  lift  their  heel,  to  bruise  your  head ; 
Men,  who  abuse  the  holiest  garb, 
To  hide  the  slanderer's  poisoned  barb. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  167 

But,  Saviour,  Thou  hast  known  them  all ; 
Peter,  Iscariot,  and  Saul : 
And,  worse  than  all,  Thy  Father's  face 
Averted  from  Thee,  for  a  space. 

Why  should  the  servant  hope  to  be, 
From  ills,  that  haunt  his  Master,  free  ? 
Who,  the  disciple,  would  accord, 
A  rule,  less  rigid,  than  his  Lord  ? 

Then,  Saviour,  let  me  clasp  Thy  Cross, 
And  count  all  other  things,  but  loss  ; 
Nor  ask,  from  foes,  to  be  set  free  ; 
So,  they  be,  also,  foes  to  Thee  ! 

Welcome  the  strife  with  godless  men; 
The  fight,  with  Satan  in  his  den  ; 
One  only  thing,  I  crave,  from  Thee ; 
Turn  not  Thy  face,  my  God,  from  me  ! 


"PERFECT,  THROUGH  SUFFERINGS." 

HEB.  II.  10. 

"  PERFECT,  through  sufferings  :"  may  it  be, 
Saviour,  made  perfect,  thus,  for  me  ! 
I  bow,  I  kiss,  I  bless  the  rod, 
That  brings  me  nearer  to  my  God. 


I  68  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

"  Perfect,  through  sufferings  :"  be  Thy  Cross 
The  crucible,  to  purge  my  dross  ! 
Welcome,  for  that,  its  pangs,  its  scorns, 
Its  scourge,  its  nails,  its  crown  of  thorns. 

"  Perfect,  through  sufferings  :"  heap  the  fire, 
And  pile  the  sacrificial  pyre  ; 
But  spare  each  loved  and  loving  one, 
And  let  me  feel  the  flames,  alone. 

"  Perfect,  through  sufferings  :"  urge  the  blast, 
More  free,  more  full,  more  fierce,  more  fast ; 
It  recks  not  where  the  dust  be  trod, 
So  the  flame  waft  my  soul,  to  God. 
The  Breakers^  June  I,  1853. 


DELICIIS  MEIS, 

G.  H.  D.j 
IN  MARE  NAVIGANTI. 

WHEN  morning  streaks  the  eastern  sky, 
And  wakes  the  world  for  me  ; 

To  thee,  my  first  affections  fly, 
My  darling,  on  the  sea. 

Through  all  the  close  and  crowded  day, 
What  toils,  what  cares,  there  be  ; 

By  thee,  my  thoughts  still  find  their  way. 
My  darling,  on  the  sea. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  169 

While,  from  the  far  and  fading  West, 

The  day  dies  duskily  ; 
With  thee,  my  spirit  seeks  its  rest, 

My  darling,  on  the  sea. 

The  silent  watches  of  the  night, 

Still  find  my  soul  with  thee; 
And  dreams  restore  thee,  fond  and  bright, 

My  darling,  on  the  sea. 

By  day  or  night,  in  toil  or  rest, 

Whate'er  my  lot  may  be  ; 
With  thee,  my  fond  heart  finds  its  rest, 

My  darling,  on  the  sea. 

And,  come  what  can,  of  pains  or  cares, 

Of  joys,  or  griefs,  to  me  ; 
I  still  will  shield  thee,  with  my  prayers, 

My  darling,  on  the  sea. 

Riverside,  August  30,  1852. 


"RORES,  FLORES." 

WHEN  April  showers 
Wake  up  the  flowers, 

From  their  Ipng  winter's  sleep, 
The  crocus  starts, 
The  rose-bud  parts, 

The  fragrant  violets  peep. 
22 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

When  tear-drops  fall, 
At  sorrow's  call, 

On  penitential  heart, 
The  perfect  peace, 
That  shall  not  cease, 

Like  flowers  in  Spring,  will  start. 


THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  HOLY  INNOCENTS, 

(IN  ALBANY  ;) 

"  A  HOUSE  OF  PRAYER  FOR  ALL  PEOPLE  ;" 

Was  Erected  by  a  Childless  Man,  as  the  Memorial  of  bis  Four  Dead  Children. 

In  the  Chancel,  is  a  mural  tablet,  of  the  purest  marble,  with  the  simple  record 
of  their  names  and  deaths,  in  four  compartments,  surrounded  and  separated 
by  an  exquisite  wreath  of  lilies  of  the  valley,  the  leaves  and  flowers,  together  j 
the  design  of  a  young  saint  (the  wife  of  the  architect),  who  came  from  a 
Northern  climate,  to  find,  with  us,  an  early  grave.  At  the  foot  of  the  tablet 
a  lamb  is  sleeping,  on  the  cross. 

"  Behold  the  lilies,  how  they  grow."     "Of  such,  is  the  kingdom  of  God." 

SWEET  lilies  of  the  valley,  ye  have  been, 

From  earliest  childhood,  my  instinctive  joy  ; 
And  still,  to  meet  you  in  the  early  Spring, 

My  spirit  leaps,  as  lithe,  as  when  a  boy  ! 
The  bells  that  seem  to  tinkle,  with  perfume, 

And  spring,  so  jauntily,  from  those  broad  leaves ; 
The  purest  white,  upon  the  deepest  green, 

That  tricksome  spring,  in  her  embroidery  weaves. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  i 

I've  twined  you,  on  the  breast  of  blushing  bride, 

And  strewed  you,  on  the  hearse  of  coffined  child 
Till  love  grew  fragrant,  with  a  new  delight, 

And  childless  sorrow  kissed  the  rod,  and  smiled. 
But,  here,  within  this  still  and  sacred  aisle, 

Ye  charm,  anew,  my  meditative  heart  ; 
Where  mimic  nature,  in  the  marble  blooms, 

And  buried  beauty  lends  a  grace,  to  art. 

Four  lovely  children  glide,  into  the  grave  ; 

A  childless  father  bends  beneath  the  rod  : 
He  makes  their  monument,  a  House  of  Prayer  ; 

The  gold,  he  meant  for  them,  he  gives  to  God. 
Upon  a  tablet  of  the  purest  white, 

Enwreathed  with  lilies,  he  records  his  loss  ; 
Their  innocence,  he  emblems,  with  his  faith  ; 

A  lamb,  recumbent,  sleeps  upon  the  cross. 

Lake  Ontario^  August  6,  1853. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM  — BY  CRAWFORD. 

TO  S.  P.  C. 

SWEET  maiden,  I  would  be  like  thee, 

As  heavenward,  eye,  and  thought,  and  heart  ; 

And  foot,  as  lightly,  to  the  earth, 

Like  greyhound,  straining  on  the  start ; 


172  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

As  closely  to  the  Cross,  Pd  cling, 
And  lean  as  simply  on  its  stay  ; 

The  things  of  earth,  all  thistle  down, 
As  hindrances,  along  my  way. 

Sweet  maiden,  by  that  scollop  shell, 

Thy  thoughts  are  where  the  Saviour  lay  ; 
And  towards  His  tomb,  thy  steps  are  bent, 

To  wait,  and  watch,  and  weep,  and  pray  ; 
And  I,  my  heart,  would  bury,  there, 

As  dead  to  self,  as  dead  to  sin  ; 
With  thee,  His  Cross,  on  earth,  to  bear, 

With  thee,  His  Crown,  in  heaven,  to  win, 

1853- 


TO  ONE  OF  RAPHAEL'S  ANGELS.' 

"  Take  heed  that  ye  despise  not  one  of  these  little  ones ;  for  I  say  unto  you, 
that  in  heaven  their  angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  FATHER  which 
is  in  heaven." 

SWEET  angel,  while  I  gaze  on  thee, 

So  mute,  so  meek,  so  mild, 
I  deem  that  thou  must  surely  be 

The  angel  of  some  child  ; 
To  whom  the  SAVIOUR  said,  such  grace, 

For  our  sakes,  has  been  given, 
That  they  behold  the  FATHER'S  face, 

Continually  in  Heaven. 

1  That  one  of  the   two  at  the  foot  of  the  Madonna  di  8.  Sisto,  which  ia 
leaning  on  both  arms. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  173 

Sweet  angel,  I  would  be  like  thee, 

In  faith,  in  hope,  in  love  ; 
My  heart's  affections,  constantly, 

Engaged  with  things  above  ; 
My  thoughts,  turned  off  from  earth,  like  thine, 

"  Commercing  with  the  skies," 
Till  all  the  Majesty  Divine 

Grow  radiant,  to  mine  eyes. 

Sweet  angel,  I  will  ever  pray, 

To  JESUS  meek  and  mild, 
That  I  may  be,  from  day  to  day, 

Still  more,  His  "  little  child." 
So,  through  the  Cross,  such  grace  to  me, 

May  graciously  be  given, 
That  thou  for  me,  may'st  always  see 

My  FATHER'S  face,  in  Heaven. 
The  Breakers,  June,  1853. 


TO  MY  SWEET  GRAND-DAUGHTER, 

ELIZA  GREENE  DOANE, 
ON  HER  BAPTISMAL  BIRTH-DAY. 

SWEET  baby,  when  thy  father 

Was  granted  to  our  love, 
We  hailed  him,  as  a  blessed  streak 

Of  sunshine,  from  above  : 


J4  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

And  all  his  life,  he  still  has  shed 
His  sunshine,  on  our  way  : 

And  cheered  us,  with  his  brightness, 
Through  the  dark,  and  cloudy  day. 

Now,  two  and  twenty  winters 

Have  heaped  on  us  their  snows  : 
And,  down  the  hill  of  life,  our  feet 

Are  tottering  to  repose  : 
When,  once  again,  the  love  of  God, 

Upon  our  path,  has  smiled, 
In  the  sunshine  of  our  sunshine, 

Our  Willie's  darling  child. 

Thou  meek  and  gentle  Jesus, 

We  bring  her  to  be  Thine  : 
Baptized  into  the  blessed  Name, 

Of  the  eternal  Trine  : 
And  humbly,  we  implore  Thy  grace, 

To  keep  her  for  Thine  own  ; 
And  guide  us  all,  to  meet,  at  last, 

Before  Thy  glorious  throne. 

Riverside,  St.  Andrew's  Day,  1854. 


A  PRAYER. 

FATHER,  to  Thy  hands  I  give, 
Her  in  whom  my  soul  doth  live  ; 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  175 

To  her  feet  be  Thou  the  guide, 
Be  the  buckler  by  her  side  : 
All  the  day  from  harm  to  keep, 
All  the  night  to  guard  her  sleep ; 
Warding  evil  from  her  heart, 
Bidding  shapes  of  ill  depart; 
Making  truth  and  innocence 
Still  her  solace  and  defence  ; 
Till,  by  grace,  thro'  faith,  she  be 
Taken  home  to  dwell  with  Thee. 


FANNY'S  GRAVE. 

There's  pansies,  that's  for  thoughts."  —  Ophelia,  in  Hamlet. 
"  A  most  unspotted  lily."  — Cranmer,  in  Henry  VIII. 

UPON  our  darling  Fanny's  grave, 

The  Pansies  are  in  bloom  : 
What  sweetest  thoughts,  unbidden,  spring, 

Beside  her  sacred  tomb  ! 
Forever,  shall  my  memory  dwell, 

Upon  that  peaceful  spot : 
For  one,  so  loved,  my  faithful  heart 

Needs  no  "  forget  me  not !  " 

The  lilies  of  the  valley  wave, 

At  Fanny's  dearest  feet  : 
While  she,  on  flowers  immortal,  treads, 

A  thousand  times  more  sweet. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Still  may  her  loveliness  attract 
Our  thoughts,  and  hearts  above  ; 

Till,  through  the  Cross  she  clasped,  we  join 
The  Lily  of  our  love  ! 

Whitsunday  ^  1855. 


THE  NEW  CRADLE. 

A  very  little  boy,  whose  infant  brother  had   died  the   day  before,  being  asked 
where  he  was,  sweetly  replied,  "  Asleep,  up  stairs,  in  bis  new  cradle" 

"  ASLEEP,  in  his  new  cradle  " — 

How  beautiful  the  thought, 
Thy  childhood,  in  its  simpleness, 

From  nature's  heart,  has  caught : 
A  reach,  our  "  Sweetest  Shakespeare," 

Himself,  has  failed  to  win  ; 
And  one,  whose  truthful  tenderness 

Must  make  "  the  world,  all  kin." 

"  Asleep,  in  his  new  cradle  " — 

Sad  mother,  dry  your  tears  ; 
In  this,  your  heart-bereavement, 

God's  tenderest  love  appears  : 
The  cradle,  you  provided, 

From  death,  could  not  be  free  ; 
Your  loveliest  has  now  secured 

His  immortality. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  177 

"  Asleep,  in  his  new  cradle  " — 

He  wakes  in  Paradise  ; 
The  lullabies  of  nature, 

Lost,  in  its  symphonies  : 
Among  the  holy  children, 

In  pastures  green,  he  plays  ; 
Or  joins,  with  lisping  accents, 

In  the  music  of  their  lays. 

"  Asleep  in  his  new  cradle  " — 

He  waits  for  you  to  come, 
From  earth,  its  sins  and  sorrows, 

To  his  bright  and  happy  home  ; 
Till  the  resurrection-breaking, 

God's  loved  ones,  all,  shall  bring, 
And  the  dead  in  Christ,  awaking, 

Reign  with  their  Saviour-King. 

Riverside,  Septuagesima,  1855. 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

A  little  child  was  disappointed,  when  her  mother  told  her  what  the  stars  were. 
She  said,  "  I  thought  they  were  the  eyes  of  angels." 

"  MOTHER,  what  are  those  little  things, 

That  twinkle  from  the  skies  ?  " 
"  The  Stars,  my  child  !  "  "I  thought,  Mother, 

They  were  the  angels'  eyes. 
23 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

u  They  look  down  on  me,  so  like  yours, 

As  beautiful,  and  mild  ; 
When,  by  my  crib,  you  used  to  sit, 

And  watch  your  feverish  child. 

"  And,  always,  when  I  shut  my  eyes, 
And  said  my  little  prayers, 

I  felt  so  safe  :  because  I  knew, 

That  they  had  opened  theirs.  " 
Riverside^  Monday  before  Easter^  1855. 


'"MY  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING." 

THAT  melancholy  Amaranth  ; 

It  haunts  me  all  the  day, 
With  memories  of  "  my  birdie  love,  " 

Now  "  flying,  "  far  away. 
"  Where  is  '  my  precious  baby*  gone  ?  " 

Rings  out,  on  all  the  air  ; 
And  stillness  stuns  my  ear,  the  while  j 

Till  echo  answers  "  where  ?  " 

My  Lizzie  "  birdie  "  nestles,  now, 

Upon  the  sounding  shore  ; 
Yet,  still,  her  flute-notes  sweet,  I  hear, 

Through  all  the  breakers'  roar  : 

JThe  common  name,  for  the  flower,  known  to  botanists,  as  "  Amaranthus 
Melancholicus  5  "  a  favorite  flower  of  the  little  grand-child,  to  whom  these 
lines  were  written.  The  words  in  quotation,  in  these  two  songs,  are  the  baby 
language  that  they  used  together. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  179 

And,  when  she  spreads  her  dovelike  wings, 

The  foaming  surge,  to  brave  : 
With  plumes,  like  "  yellow  gold,  "  she  seems 

An  angel  on  the  wave. 

That  melancholy  Amaranth, 

With  pendant,  purple  flowers, 

Like  weeping-willow,  stands  to  mark, 

The  graves  of  parted  hours. 
Far,  far  away,  "  my  birdie  love  " 

Is  "  plashing  "  in  the  sea  ; 
"  My  love  lies  bleeding,  "  all  that's  left, 

To  solitude  and  me. 


August  15,  1856. 


FROM  "DANPY"  TO  HIS  "BIRDIE." 

WITH  A  WINTER  BLOSSOM. * 

MY  "  birdie"  love,  your  little  flowers 
Have  touched  your  "  Danpy's  "  heart  ; 

And  made  the  tears,  like  April  drops, 
From  its  deep  fountains,  start. 

He  laid  the  fair  and  fragrant  things, 
Between  his  Prayer  Book  leaves : 

To  look  at  in  his  loneliness  ; 

And  cheer  him,  when  he  grieves. 

1  A  curl  of  his  hair. 


l8o  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

So  may  his  "  birdie  Lizzie  "  lie 
Safe,  in  the  Church's  arms  ; 

Still  guarded,  by  her  watchful  love, 
And  kept  from  sins  and  harms  : 

Till,  at  the  gracious  Saviour's  call, 
She  spreads  her  golden  wings  : 

And,  in  the  paradise  of  God, 

Forever  flies  and  sings  ! 
Ascension,  1856. 


THE  HEART  NEED  NOT  GROW  OLD. 

THERE  are  who  deem  life's  afternoon, 

At  best  a  dark  and  dreary  time, 
Too  late  to  yield  a  second  bloom, 

Too  chill  to  keep  the  flowers  of  prime  ; 
That  day  by  day,  and  step  by  step, 

While  friends  of  youth,  beside  us  fall, 
The  weary  heart,  grown  dull  with  age 

Responds  no  more  to  friendship's  call. 

Believe  them  not,  my  gentle  girl, 

Those  libellers  of  love  and  truth, 
Nor  let  the  clouds  of  coming  years, 

O'ercast  the  spring-time  of  thy  youth. 
The  light  of  sense  may  all  go  out, 

And  passion's  wild-fire  quite  grow  cold. 
But  time  chills  not  the  warmth  of  truth, 

The  loving  heart  grows  never  old. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  1 8 


TO  THE  SWEET  'DAUGHTERS  OF  THE 
CROSS  ; 

WHO  WROUGHT,  FOR   ME,  THE  EVERGREEN,  "EMBLEM    OF  OUR    SALVA- 
TION. 

"  Only  in  the  Cross." 

SWEET  children,  in  the  Cross,  you  bring, 

Three  lessons,  I  discern  : 
For,  though  I'm  nearly  sixty  years, 

I'm  not  too  old  to  learn. 

It  teaches  me,  that,  for  my  sins, 

My  God  was  crucified  : 
Incarnate  as  the  Virgin's  Son, 

The  Lord  of  glory  died. 

It  teaches  me,  that  I  must  bear 

His  painful,  shameful  Cross ; 
And  count,  for  Him,  myself,  the  world, 

And  all  things  else,  but  loss. 

It  teaches  me,  that  fadeless  wreaths, 

For  faithful  ones,  are  twined  ; 
When,  through  the  Spirit's  guiding  love, 

Their  homes,  in  heaven,  they  find. 

1  The  pupils  of  St.  Mary's  Hall. 

2  This  same  cross,  that,  for  so  many  years,  had  told  him  of  his  children's 
Christmas  love,  was  laid  on  this,  "first  Christmas  without  their  Father,"  among 
the  flowers  that  bloomed  that  day  upon  his  grave. 


I  82  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Sweet  children,  learn  these  lessons,  now  ; 

The  bleeding  Cross,  hold  fast ; 
Endure  its  load,  in  patient  love  ; 

And  wear  the  Crown,  at  last. 


PRAY  FOR  YOUR  PASTOR. 

DEAREST  BISHOP, —  Dr.  N.  preached  his  first  sermon,  as  our  Rector,  yester- 
day j  and  may  I  not  ask  your  prayers  that  his  ministry  may  be  blessed  to  our 
eternal  good." 

PRAY  for  your  Pastor  !  —  that  I  will  ; 
That,  his  great  trust,  he  may  fulfil, 

To  feed  the  flock  of  God  : 
The  lost,  to  seek  ;  the  young  to  train  ; 
The  timid,  cheer ;  the  bold,  restrain  ; 

With  pastoral  staff  and  rod. 

Pray  for  your  Pastor  !  —  that,  I  do  : 
That  all  his  words  be  wise  and  true  ; 

And  all  his  prayers  sincere  ; 
His  teachings,  what  the  Church  approves  ; 
His  conduct,  such  as  Jesus  loves  ; 

His  conscience,  always  clear. 

Pray  for  your  Pastor  !  —  certainly  ; 
Else,  what  a  Bishop  I  should  be  ! 

How  else,  the  trial  meet ; 
When,  at  the  throne  of  Christ,  I  stand, 
Pastors  and  flocks,  on  either  hand, 

To  lay  them  at  His  feet. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  183 

Sweet  soul,  your  Bishop  needs  your  prayers, 
In  all  his  trials,  toils  and  cares, 

His  watchings  and  his  tears  : 
And,  ask  your  Pastor's,  for  him,  too  ; 
That  he  may  stand,  erect  and  true, 

When  Christ,  the  Judge  appears. 

Riverside,  September  19,  1857. 


LINES  SENT,  WITH  A  BIBLE, 

To  my  wife. 

Go,  Holy  Book,  to  her,  my  soul, 

Of  earthly  treasures,  holds  most  dear, 

Go,  cheer  with  joy  the  sorrowing  heart, 
With  hope,  the  clouded  vision  clear. 

Be  to  her  fainting  spirit,  strength, 
Be  light  before  her  faltering  feet, 

Give  humble  faith,  give  heavenly  might, 
To  seek,  to  reach  the  mercy-seat. 

And  Thou,  divine  and  gentle  Dove, 
Let  not  Thy  gracious  strivings  cease  ; 

Fire  Thou  her  soul,  with  sacred  love, 
Fill  Thou  her  soul,  with  perfect  peace. 


184  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Our  Father  hear  thy  children's  prayer  — 
Our  griefs  removed,  our  sins  forgiven, 

Build  Thou  again,  and  bless,  our  home, 
And  fit  us  there,  for  Thee,  and  Heaven. 


TO  MISS  STANLEY'S  SUNDAY-MORNING 
BIRD: 

For  several  mornings,  a  little  bird  found  its  way  into  the  saloon  at  St.  Mary's 
Hall,  where  a  Sunday  class  was  gathered. 

LITTLE  winged  bit  of  song. 
Wheresoe'er  thou  dost  belong, 
Come,  and  go,  without  a  fear  ; 
Thou  art  ever  welcome  here  ! 

Dost  thou  know  the  sacred  day  ? 
Dost  thou  know  where  maidens  pray  ? 
Wast  thou  won  down,  from  the  sky, 
By  our  Chapel  minstrelsy  ? 

Did  the  angels  tell  thee,  when 
Thou  might'st  hear  good  Bishop  Ken,1 
In  that  sweetest  Morning  Hymn 
Fit  for  chanting  Cherubim  ! 

1  Bishop  Ken's  "  Morning  Hymn"  is  always  sung  on  Sundays,  in  the  Chapel 
of  the  Holy  Innocents  j   also  the  Evening  Hymn. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  185 

Did  the  Saviour,  from  above, 
In  the  fulness  of  His  love, 
Send  a  message  down,  by  thee  ; 
"  Let  the  children  come  to  Me  ?" 


Little  winged  bit  of  song, 
Wheresoe'er  thou  dost  belong, 
Come,  and  go,  without  a  fear  ! 
Thou  art  ever  welcome  here  ! 


August,  1858. 


THE  WEDDED  FLAGS: 

A  SONG  OF  THE  ATLANTIC  CABLE. 

HANG  out  that  glorious  old  red  cross  ! 

Hang  out  the  stripes  and  stars  ! 
They  faced  each  other  fearlessly, 

In  two  historic  wars. 

But  now,  the  ocean  circlet  binds 
The  bridegroom,  and  the  bride  : 

Old  England,  young  America  — 
Display  them,  side  by  side. 


I  86  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

High  up,  from  Trinity's  tall  spire, 

We'll  fling  the  banners  out ; 
Hear  how  the  world-wide  welkin  rings, 
With  that  exulting  shout. 

Forever  wave,  those  wedded  flags, 
As  proudly  now  they  wave  ! 

God,  for  the  lands,  His  love  has  blessed, 
The  beauteous,  and  the  brave.          • 

But  see  !  the  dallying  wind,  the  stars, 
About  the  cross,  has  blown  ; 

And  see,  again,  the  cross,  around 
The  stars  its  folds  has  thrown. 

Was  ever  sign  so  beautiful, 

Hung  from  the  heavens,  abroad  ? 

Old  England,  young  America, 
For  freedom,  and  for  God. 


TO  MARGARET  HARRISON  DOANE, 

BAPTIZED  ST.  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS,  MDCCCLVIII. 

"Are   they  not  all  ministering   spirits,  sent  forth  to  minister  for  them  which 
shall  be  heirs  of  salvation  ?" 

MARGARET,  sweetest  —  that  means,  Pearl — 
You  are,  now,  a  Christian  girl  ; 

1  The  English  and  American  flags,  displayed  together  from  the  spire  of 
Trinity  Church,  New  York,  on  the  day  of  "  the  Cable  Celebration,"  were 
blown  across  each  other  in  mutual  embrace. 


SONGS    BY    THE    WAY.  187 

In  the  pure,  baptismal  wave, 
Sin  and  death  have  found  a  grave  ; 
Through  the  blood  of  Him,  who  died  : 
Christ,  for  sinners,  crucified. 

Sweetest  Margaret,  darling  girl, 
Be,  henceforth,  the  Saviour's  pearl  ! 
This  is  all  the  Angels'  day  ; 
Excellent,  in  strength  are  they  ; 
Made,  in  Christ,  salvation's  heir, 
You  are,  now,  the  Angels'  care. 

Margaret,  darling,  sweetest  girl, 
Seek,  in  Christ,  the  priceless  pearl. 
Be  a  pearl,  in  holiness  ; 
Be  a  pearl,  in  preciousness  ; 
Then,  forevermore  be  set, 
In  the  Saviour's  coronet. 
Riverside,  September  29,  1858. 


THE  FIRST  GREEN. 

ON   MY  MOTHER'S  GRAVE,  IN  SWEET  ST.  MARY'S  CHURCHYARD. 
"  I  went  heavily  :   as  one  that  mourneth  for  his  mother." 

IT  was  wintry,  dearest  Mother,  when  we  left  you  to  your 

rest, 
In  the  sweet  and  sacred  shadow,  which  you  always  loved 

the  best ; 


I  88  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

The  snow  lay  all  about  us,  in  its  dreariness  and  chill, 
And  your  children  turned  away  from  you,  with  hearts  more 
dreary,  still. 

Through  the  flocks  my  Master  trusts  me  with,  I've  wan- 
dered far  and  nigh, 

And  return,  to  find,  that  Spring  has  set  its  blueness  in  the 
sky; 

And  shed  its  twinkling  laughter,  on  the  glad  and  glancing 
wave  ; 

And,  dearer  to  my  heart,  than  all,  its  greenness,  on  your 
grave. 

How  well  do  I  remember,  the  grass-plat  that  you  made ; 
And  studded  it,  with  violets,  beneath  a  plum-tree's  shade  ; 
And  led  me  there,  each  sweet  Spring  morn,  and  watched 

me  at  my  play  j 
And  taught  me,  at  the  sunset,  by  your  knees,  to  kneel,  and 

pray. 

Almost  threescore  years,  my  Mother,  have  glided  by,  since 

then  ; 

And,  a  child,  in  all  but  innocence,  I  kneel,  by  you,  again  ; 
With  violets,  and  with  pansies,  I  perfume  the  sacred  sod  ; 
While  I  pray  for  grace,  to  join  you,  in  the  paradise  of  God. 

St.  Mary's  Churchyard,  April  17,  1858. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY.  189 


THE  ALL  SAINTS  FLOWERS, 

With  the  Autumn  leaves,  from  the  Altar  of  the  Chapel  of  St.  Barnabas,   were 
laid,  by  the  Priest,  after  the  service  on  his  grand-mother's  grave. 

SWEET  flowers  upon  my  mother's  grave, 

Ye  glad  my  eye  and  heart  ; 
For  ye  were  always  her  delight, 

And  of  her  life,  a  part. 
No  roses  ever  bloomed  like  hers  ; 

No  lilies  were  so  sweet  ; 
And  pansy,  jasmine,  mignonette, 

Ran  riot,  at  her  feet. 

She  treads  a  fairer  garden  now  ; 

The  Paradise  of  God  : 
And,  walks,  with  reverent  step,  and  slow, 

Where  Jesu's  feet  have  trod  ; 
Reclines,  beside  the  crystal  streams, 

On  banks  of  asphodel  ;  , 

And,  with  the  throng  of  saints,  delights, 

The  Saviour's  love  to  tell. 

Sweet  flowers,  to  which,  the  Altar,  first, 

Its  consecration,  lent  ; 
By  filial  hands,  in  grateful  love, 

So  beautifully  blent  ; 
Ye  mind  me  of  my  mother's  care, 

Which  overflowed  on  me  ; 
And,  on  my  children,  shed  the  grace, 

Of  its  benignity. 


19°  SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

Sweet  mother,  these  Autumnal  leaves, 

With  hectic  beauty,  bright, 
Tell  how,  through  long  and  lingering  years, 

You  faded  on  our  sight ; 
And,  then,  they  tell,  of  that  bright  time, 

When  God,  His  saints  shall  bring  ; 
And  heaven's  own  beauty  all,  be  thine  — 

The  Resurrection  Spring. 

All  Saints  Day,  1858. 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS, 

WITHOUT  MY  MOTHER. 
"One  who  mourneth  for  his  mother." 

SWEET  Mother,  eight  and  fifty  years, 

Thy  Christmas  blessings  crowned  my  brow  ; 

Thy  seat  is  vacant,  by  my  side  ; 

And  Christmas  comes,  without  thee,  now. 

A  shadow  creeps,  across  my  hearth  ; 

The  cypress  twines  the  holly-bough  ; 
I  cannot  frame  the  Christmas  phrase  : 

For  Christmas  comes,  without  thee,  now. 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY. 


191 


Along  the  line  of  threescore  years, 

In  gifts  and  prayers,  like  tracks  in  snow, 

I  trace  thy  ever-living  love : 

But  Christmas  comes,  without  thee,  now. 

And  yet,  sweet  Mother,  though  the  thought 
Will  choke  and  tear,  my  bursting  breast  ; 

And  tears  o'ercast  this  joyous  day  ; 
I  would  not  call  thee,  from  thy  rest. 

Safe  in  the  Paradise  of  God, 

Thy  home  is  with  the  holy  dead ; 

Where  Christmas  boughs  are  ever  green ; 
And  the  Christ-feast  is  always  spread. 

Christmas,  1858. 


INDEX. 


Page.  Page. 

A  Cherub, 96    Fanny's  Grave, 175 

A  Daisy, 150    Farewell, 83 

"  Ah,  my  Brother !"     .      .      .     .150    Ficus  Religiosa, 157 

An  Answer, 147    "  Forget  Me  Not,"     ....        32 

A  Prayer, 112    For  the  Festival  of  the  Holy  Inno- 

A  Prayer, 174        cents, 53 

Fragment, 25 

From  "  Danpy"  to  his  "Birdie,"   179 

Battersea  Rise, 134   From   the  Italian  of  Metastasio,       57 

Bishop  Ravenscroft,   ....      103    From  the  Latin  of  Seneca,   ...   54 


Come  when  thou  wilt,       .      .      .139    Gleams  of  Sunshine  in  a  darkened 

"  Consors  Paterni  luminis,"  .      .        45         room, 140 


Deliciis  Meis, 168  Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton,   .      -65 

Dirge, 85    Hoc  erat  in  Votis, 128 

Home, 31 

Hymn, 100 

Early  Piety, 86    Hymn  for  Lent, 42 

Evening, .        3  Hymn  for  Noon,  "  Rector  potens, 

Evening  Hymn, 50        verax  Deus," 47 

Evening    Hymn,    "  Creator    Alme  Hymn  for  Whitsun-Day,       .      .       49 

Siderum," 52 

Evening   Hymn,  "  Jam  Sol  recedit 

igneus,".    . 48 

Evening  Hymn,  "  Te  lucis  ante  ter-  "I   am  the   Way,  and  the  Truth, 

minum," 48         and  the  Life," 6 

25 


194  INDEX. 

Page.  Page. 

"I    have    fought    with   beasts   at  My  Best  of  Blessings,    .      .      .      .135 

Ephesus," 1 66    "  My  love  lies  bleeding,"     .      .      178 

Inscription,  for  the  Tomb  of  a  little 

Girl,  eight  years  old,   ....    69 
"  In  the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the 

day  of  judgment,"        .      .      .      .13    "Never  give  up," 141 

INTRODUCTION, v    Noon, 2 


"  Jam  lucis  orto  sidere,"     ...     44    "  O  Fons  Blandusiae,"       .      .       .55 

"Oh  !  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove,"  22 
On  a  very  old  Wedding  Ring,  .  .  36 
On  the  little  Urn  in  the  Garden,  124 

Life's  Little  Lines,       ....        20    "  Our  Father,  who  art  in  Heaven,"     8 

Life's  Trellised  Way,  .      .      .130 

Light  is  sown  for  the  righteous,      141 

Lines  by  the  Lake-side,      .      .      .102 

Lines  on  a  Seal, 82    "  Perfect,  through  sufferings,"     .    167 

Lines  on  a  Seal, 91    Pray  for  your  Pastor,   .      .      .      .     182 

Lines  sent  with  a  Bible,   .      .      .      183 

Little  Mary's  Grave,.  .      .      .153 

"  Lord,  I  believe,  help  Thou  mine 

unbelief," 9    Raspberry     Vinegar,     with     Iced 

"Lord,    to    whom    shall    we    go?  Water, 146 

Thou   hast  the   words  of  eternal  Remembered  Joys,      ....         27 

life," 14    "  Rex  sempiterne  coelitum,"   .      .      41 

Love  and  Death, 71    Robin  Redbreast, 160 

"  Love  consecrates  them  all,"       .      75    "  Rores  Flores," 169 

Rosemary, 26 


Malleus  Domini, 147 

Midnight, 4  Sarah  Wallace  Germain,    .      .      .161 

Morning, i  "  Since,  where  thou  art,  I  may  not 

Morning  Hymn, 43  dwell,"  ........      74 

Morning  Hymn, 51  "So  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep,"   125 

Morning    Hymn,    "  Tu    Trinitatis  Sonnet, 61 

unitas," 46    Sonnet, 67 


INDEX.  195 

Page.  Page. 

Sonnet  from  the  Italian  of  Petrarch,   56  The  Heart  need  not  grow  old,     .    180 

Sons  of  the  Greeks,     ....        32  The  Heart's  Tribute,  ....        30 

Spirit  of  Spring, 108  The  Love  of  Christ,      .     .     .     .      10 

Spring  Thoughts, 114  The  Mother,  at  the  grave  of  her 

Stand  as  an  Anvil, 149        Child, 156 

"  Sweet  from  the  Rain,"       .      .      148  The     Mourned  —  The     Loved  — 

The  Lost, 35 

The  New  Cradle, 176 

The  Old  Man  of  Verona,        .      .151 

That  Silent  Moon,      ....        38  The  Plague  of  Darkness,.      .      .        13 

The  All  Saints  Flowers,     .      .      .189  The  Pleasures  of  a  Country  Life,     62 

The  Amulet  of  Grace,     .      .      .      no  The  raising  of  Lazarus,     ...        89 

The  Banner  of  the  Cross,         .      .    144    Thermopylae, 21 

The  Baptism  of  Tears,     .      .      .      163  The  Sailor's  Home,     ....      142 

The  Beauchamp  Monument,        .    126    The  Self-Flowing, 131 

"              "                   «...      128  The  Sinner  Called,      ....        12 

The  Blessed  Sun  will  shine,    .      .      99  The  smell  of  Spring,     .     .      .     .121 

The  Catholic's  assertion  of  the  The  Two  Advents,     ....        87 

Cross, 136  The  Voice  of  Rama,     ....        5 

The  child  at  Prayer,   ....      143  The  Water  of  Life,     ....        15 

The  Christian  Pilgrim,       .      .      .171  The  Waters  of  Marah,       ...        7 

The  Church   of  the    Holy  Inno-  The  Wedded  Flags,     .     ."     .      .      185 

cents, 170    To—    , 80 

The  Cloud  Bridge,       ....        97  To  a  dear  little  Boy,    ....      122 

The  Cross, 162  To  a  Dear  One  in   Deep  Sorrow,     94 

"  The  Dead  in  Christ,"    ...        92  To  a  Mourning  Mother, .      .     .      137 

The  Dilemma, 101  To  a  very  dear  Friend,  .     .     .     .      18 

The  eyes  of  the  Angels,   .     .      .      177    To  Delius, 37 

The  Faded  Flower, 29  To  Fuscus  Aristius,       ....      66 

The  Faithful  Saying,  ....        n    To  Grosphus, 59 

"  The  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  To  Margaret  Harrison  Doane,     .    186 

away," 16  To  Miss  Stanley's  Sunday-Morn- 

The  First  Christmas  without  my  ing  Bird, 148 

Mother, 190  To  my  dear  George  Hobart,.      .      106 

The  First  Green, 187    To  my  dear  Sister, in 

The  Flight  into  Egypt,     .      .      .      155  To  my  dear  Sister,       .      .     .     .      118 

The     Fountain     opened     in     the  "  " 119 

Church, 107  To  my  dear  Willie,     ....      129 

The  Geranium  Leaf,     .      .     .      .113  To  my  English  God-son,   .      .      .132 


196 


INDEX. 


Page. 

To  my  Heart, 138 

To  my  sweet  Grand-daughter,   .      173 

To  my  Wife, 115 

To  my  Wife, 1 1 6 

" 140 

To  one  "Broken  in  Heart,"  .  93 
To  one  of  Raphael's  Angels,  .  .  172 
"  To  say  —  I've  thought  of  thee,"  78 
To  the  Peninsula  of  Sirmio,  .  .  58 

To  the  Spring, 68 

To   the   sweet    Daughters  of  the 
Cross, 181 


To  two  dear  Children,  . 
To  William  Croswell, 


Page. 

.     121 

112 


Wall  Flowers, 145 

What  is  that,  Mother  ?       .     .      .  8 1 

Why  wish  for  Life  ?    .      .      .      .  70 

Wild  Birds, 84 

William  Croswell,       .      .      .      .  158 

With  a  Bible  and  Prayer  Book,    .  123 

Written  on  leaving  Home,    .      .  105 


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